Harry Potter & the Heir of Ancients
by anon2
Summary: Harry is NOT the heir of Gryffindor OR the heir of Merlin. He is the heir of a far greater and more ancient wizard. Who? Starts summer before year five. H/Hr romance.
1. Chapter 1: Return

Harry Potter and the Heir of Ancients Written by:  anon Edited by: anon's cousin, who doesn't have an account on FFN 

Disclaimer: The usual, none of the characters are mine.  JKR is the creator, blah, blah, blah. Anything you may recognize from other fics is either coincidental, meaning it's from a fic I haven't read, accidental, meaning it's from a fic that I have read, but forgot it came from someone else's work, in which case I apologize, or is something that I thought up, but someone else used in a similar way before I had the chance to post this, if that makes sense. Does anybody even read these things?

(Preliminary A/N: Well, here it is. After over a year of reading HP fanfictions, I finally decided to write one. I've tried to eliminate some of the dumber clichés, or at least approach them from an original and/or more realistic angle. I know that the arrival date of the real fifth book is approaching fast. I also know that there is no way I can finish this fic before the real HP5 comes out. I want to give you my word, however, that if you like this fic, I _will_ finish it, no matter how long it takes. Thank you, and enjoy.)

Chapter 1: Return

          King's Cross Station was soon behind Harry Potter.  He may have looked like any other boy, being picked up at the station by his uncle, but Harry was very different.  Harry was a wizard, returning to a place he hated to go, 4 Privet Drive, where magic was not only forbidden, but also hated.  There was no sense denying Harry's hatred of the summer holidays, so he didn't even bother his thoughts with what he would have to deal with for the next few months.  Instead, his mind was going over what had just happened at the station.  Hermione, one of his best friends, had kissed him.  It was only on the cheek, but he couldn't stop thinking about it, as she had never kissed him before.

_'Hermione kissed me.  Hermione _kissed_ me.  Why can't I stop thinking about it?'_ Harry thought to himself, realizing he had a strange feeling in his stomach that was just as unexplainable as the thoughts in his head.

Harry snapped out of his reverie when he realized that Uncle Vernon, one of his only living relatives, had started talking to him.  "Boy, you will be turning fifteen this summer and I have decided that you need a job.  I will not have a shiftless bum living in my house.  I spoke with a friend of mine who is the foreman of the fertilizer plant in the next town, and he agreed to put you to work for the summer.  Don't think you'll be getting the money though; I've taken care of you for fourteen years without compensation, and now I will be expecting rent."

Harry wasn't surprised at the demands of his uncle, "How much do you expect me to pay?"

"Forty-five pounds a week is all I require, but if I see any funny stuff, I'll charge you another five each time.  I was just going to take the whole check, but thought it would be better to make you buy your own clothing from now on.  Dudley's castaways are far too good for a freak like you."

"Fine, but how do you expect me to get there?  I know the place you're talking about and it is awfully far away," replied an indignant Harry.

"Don't be smart with me, boy! You will walk the twelve miles every morning and arrive at work at seven.  If I hear about you being late, there'll be hell to pay.  You will get a one hour lunch break, and you will leave work at four in the afternoon."

"What!?!  Are you serious?  I'll have to wake up at 3:00 AM to get there on time!" yelled Harry.

"Of course I am serious, and don't forget what will happen if you're late," replied Uncle Vernon.

"Fine, I'll cooperate, but I have a few conditions."

"I don't think you're in a position to be bargaining with me, boy.  What could you possibly do if I refuse?"

"I could report you to the Ministry of Magic for violation of the Underage Wizard Child Labor Restriction Act of 1877.  'No wizarding minor under the age of seventeen may hold a job unless he does so of his own free will, having testified under the influence of Veritaserum.' Violating it could get you a five to seven year sentence in Azkaban Prison, and I don't think that any muggle has ever managed to survive there for more than eighteen months or so. The guards aren't quite human, and they don't like muggles very much."

Uncle Vernon's mouth hung open and the blood had drained from his face.  The prospect of having to go to any wizarding institution was purely horrifying for him.  After a few moments of silence, he sputtered, "A-Alright boy, what are your terms?"

Harry grinned as he began to list his demands, "First, I would like to keep all of my school things in my room with me."

"Done."

"Second, since I will be paying rent, I will not be doing chores for you anymore…"

"Now you wait one second, boy!" interrupted Uncle Vernon.

"I wasn't finished.  For a fifteen-pound deduction from my rent, I will do six hours worth of yard work on Sunday.  After six hours, I will stop," finished Harry.

"Fine."

Harry continued, "Also, apart from those six hours on Sunday, I will do as I please when not at work.  This includes my homework for school."

"You may do your homework, but only in your bedroom.  I don't want you flaunting your abnormality, boy."

Harry became a bit angered by the last comment, but continued, "Great.  Finally, I get to do whatever I want with the rest of my wages."

"Of course, but I would suggest that you get that mangy hair of yours cut, and like I said, you will be buying your own clothes.  Dudley's are way too good to give to a freak."

Biting back his rage at Vernon's last comment, Harry told him his last demand. "This is the last one, and it is not really a demand, it's just something I need to tell you. A spell has been placed over the house to make it impossible for post owls to come. The spell will be lifted for one hour on my birthday so I can get my supply list for this year and any gifts my friends send me. My mail will be delivered to the living room, and you and the whole family have to be there when I open my gifts and letters. I know what you're thinking, and I'm not happy about it either. If it were up to me, I'd just receive the mail in my room and open it by myself the way I do every year, but it's not up to me."

"Fine, boy, but I don't like it. Is that clear?"

"Crystal.  And just because I can't receive mail doesn't mean that I can't send it in case of emergency, so Hedwig's cage will stay unlocked this summer."

"Alright boy, is there anything else?"

"No, Uncle, " Harry replied. He then went back to staring out the window and was soon lost in his thoughts again. He was thinking about what must have been one of the longest conversations he and Vernon had ever had. He had just greatly improved his living condition, and was quite pleased about it, but he wondered how his uncle could be so gullible as to believe that Harry was so knowledgeable on wizarding law. As far as Harry knew, laws didn't even exist in the wizarding world that referred to child labor. 

Harry had been truthful, however, when he said that no mail would be coming for him over the summer, and as he and his uncle drove, he began to think back to the conversation he had had with Professor Dumbledore the previous day. 

*****

Harry slowly made his way up the moving staircase to Dumbledore's office. He already knew what he was going to say, but he didn't know if he was making the right choice. He arrived at the top and knocked on the door.

Dumbledore opened the door and greeted Harry warmly, "Hello Harry, what did you want to see me about?"

Harry took a deep breath before making one of the hardest requests of his life. "Sir, this summer, I would like to cut off all contact with the wizarding world.  I have thought this over very carefully, and I feel that it would be the best thing for me.  I need time alone, sir. A lot has happened to change my life recently, and I have a strange feeling that even more things are going to change soon, and I'm not just talking about Voldemort.  This summer, I just want a lot of time to myself so I can come to terms with all that has happened and prepare for what is coming.  I need to sort out a lot of things in my life."

When Harry was finished, he noticed a bit of sadness in Dumbledore's usually bright eyes.  "Harry, I know that what happened to you was terrible, but you can't run away from your problems."

"Wait, sir," interjected Harry, "I'm not trying to run away from my problems.  I'm trying to put them into perspective, that's all.  Until a few days ago, I didn't _really,_ truly understand why defeating Voldemort made me so famous, but now I do.  Last week, I saw what he represents, what he really is."

"And what is that?" prodded Dumbledore. 

"Evil, sir. He is evil.  He is not an evil man, or even a man who does evil things; he _is_ evil, pure and simple.  I could literally feel evil coming from him in that graveyard, and I need to figure out how to cope with that."

"Harry, when you say you want to cut off contact with the wizarding world, do you mean Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger as well?"

"Yes sir, I do. But I will need your help to do it."

"What do you need, Harry?" asked the Headmaster. 

"Well, they will try to send me owls no matter what.  Even if I tell them not to mail me anything, they will still try.  So I was wondering if there was some sort of repelling charm that would keep the owls from coming."

"Yes Harry, there is, but I will only put it up for you under one condition."

"And what is that?"

"My condition is that the ward be taken down for one hour on you birthday so that you may get you supply list and anything that you friends would like to send you.  For this to work, your entire family must be present with you when the mail is delivered, and while you open it."

"That'll be fine, sir. Thank you. You've been a big help."

"You're welcome, Harry.  But I still think that this decision is a mistake, although I understand why you made it. I hope that you do not come to regret this choice."

"I won't, sir, and thank you again," Harry said, before walking out of the office. 

*****

 "Boy, we're here," said Vernon. "Get your things to your bedroom and then get some food and bring it up there. You start work tomorrow morning, and I don't want to see you again until you come back tomorrow evening."    

Harry did as his uncle said. Not that it mattered: he had actually planned to do that anyway. He needed to write to Ron and Hermione to explain about the charm and mail restrictions, and to Sirius and professor Dumbledore to tell them that he had gotten home all right and to put up the ward at noon the next day. He decided to start with Professor Dumbledore.

_Professor,_

_I have arrived at the Dursley's without any problems. Vernon will not be causing any difficulties about having to be present when I receive my mail on my birthday.  My uncle has spoken to one of his friends and obtained me a job this summer. I'll be doing manual labor forty hours a week, which really isn't such a bad thing because it will give me time to think everything through without bothering any one else with my problems.   Sir, I know you think I am making a mistake, but I need to deal with this on my own. _

_With respect, _

_                                                                                                Harry Potter_

_P.S I will write if my scar hurts. _

'_Yes_'_, Harry thought. '_That'll do just fine. Now for Sirius' letter_.'_

_Sirius,_

_I made it back to my uncle's house just fine. If everything goes according to plan, this will be my last letter until term starts at Hogwarts.  I'm sorry I have to do this, but I need time to think and to get over what happened._

_My uncle has gotten me a job for the summer so I can pay the rent he is going to charge me.  It will give me time to think, but not too much, and it will get me out of the house for most of the day._

_Stay safe, and thanks for understanding, I hope._

_Love,_

_                                                                                                Harry_

'_Two more to go_,' he thought. '_I guess I'll do Ron's next, then Hermione's_.' 

_Ron,_

_I got back to Privet Drive okay. My uncle got me a job this summer at a fertilizer plant, so I expect to be pretty busy hauling dung all summer.  I hope that everything is all right at the Burrow and that you all got home okay. _

_Unfortunately, Ron, I will not be able to send or receive any mail this summer.  A ward has been placed over the house that doesn't allow owls in if they are carrying post.  It's not so bad, though. I will use the time to think a lot of things through and sort out my problems. The ward will only be taken down for one hour on my birthday so that I can receive my Hogwarts letter and anything you guys want to send (hint, hint). Don't worry about me. I'll be just fine. _

_Give my love to the rest of your family._

_-Harry _

PS- If the twins find out what I'm doing this summer, I will know who told them, and he'll be hexed so badly that his own mother won't recognize him. 

Harry hoped Ron wouldn't see through the small lies he told him in his letter. He thought Ron would probably just believe everything that was said without question.  Hermione would be different.  She would easily spot any inconsistency in his letter, so he had to write it very carefully.  '_It's not easy trying to fool the smartest witch in your year_,' Harry thought.  And there it was again, that funny feeling in his stomach. He had never felt anything like it before, except in the car, when he had been thinking about how Hermione had kissed him.  '_Why do I get this feeling when I think about Hermione?'_ Harry asked himself. '_And why can't I stop thinking about her?'_

And then it hit him, a realization so shocking and unexpected by Harry that Voldemort could have apparated right next to him and he wouldn't have noticed.  He had a crush on Hermione!  He had a crush on one of his best friends.

_'Oh, great Merlin! Why did I have to figure it out just _now_? Couldn't it have waited until _after_ I sent her the letter?'_ Harry thought miserably.  This new realization would make it much harder to write her letter.  It would also complicate their friendship. Harry would have a very hard time acting normally around Hermione now that he knew he felt that way about her. And if she found out…their friendship was as good as over, not just his and Hermione's but his and Ron's as well. Harry knew that Ron liked Hermione, too, and there was no way that Ron would stay friends with him if he found out how Harry felt.

_'All right, Harry_,' he thought to himself, '_you can do this. Just write what you were going to before you knew you liked her.' _ Harry took a deep breath, and then began writing Hermione's letter.

_Dear Hermione,_

_I want you to know that I made it back to the Dursley's' and I hope that you got home all right too.  Everything is fine here, but Uncle Vernon says he'll be charging me a weekly rent this summer, so he asked a friend of his to get me a job.  It's twelve miles away, and I'll have to walk there every morning, and once I get there I'll be moving sacks of manure for eight hours a day.  This really isn't so bad, and it'll probably help me, as I've noticed that I'm sorely lacking as far a muscles go.  I guess I'll be pretty busy this summer._

_I don't know what you decided about going to visit Krum, but I wish that you would just stay closer to home.  You're a lot safer in Britain, and I don't want any of my friends to get hurt.  With my crazy work schedule, I don't need any more worries._

_I also have some bad news.  Over the summer, I will be unable to correspond with you or Ron, or anybody else for that matter.  A ward has been placed over the Dursleys' house that will repel owls carrying mail.  It should be up by the time you get this letter. It will be taken down for one hour on my birthday so I can receive my school list, and anything that anyone might want to send.  This isn't such a bad thing.  I need time to think, and to come to terms with what happened. I have a lot of stuff going on in my life that I need to sort out.  This may sound stupid, but I've finally figured out why defeating Voldemort made me so famous, and now I need time to rethink my life now that Voldemort is back. _

_Say hello to your parents for me._

_With love, and friendship,_

_Harry_

_'Yes,_' Harry thought, '_that'll be fine.' _ He gathered up all the letters, addressed them, and then gave them to Hedwig.

"Okay, Hedwig," he said, stroking her back, "deliver Hermione's letter first, then Ron's. After that, go to Hogwarts and leave Professor Dumbledore his letter, and Sirius' as well.  He'll know what to do with it.  Be careful, girl, and come back safe."

Hedwig gave him a soft, reassuring "hoot" and flew out the window. Harry looked at his clock; it was nearly midnight.  '_Wow, it took a lot longer to write those letters than I thought it would,' _Harry reflected as he rubbed his aching hand.

His mind steered itself toward thoughts of Hermione. He suddenly had a lot more to think about this summer.

As the clock struck midnight, Harry went to his bed and tried to fall asleep, hoping for happy dreams about Hogwarts, Hermione, or his parents, and not nightmares about Voldemort, which he had frequently had since The Dark Lord's resurrection the week before. But the boy who lived would have a completely different kind of dream that night.

(A/N: There you have it: the first chapter of my first fic. The first six chapters are already written, they just need to be typed and edited. The second chapter should be out in about two to three weeks. I'm sorry it couldn't be sooner, but I'm quite busy and I'm already spending more time on this story than I should. One again, thanks for reading, and please review; I would greatly appreciate constructive criticism. Also, if anyone knows how to get the italics to work, please tell me.)


	2. Chapter 2: Ancestors and Heirs

Harry Potter and the Heir of Ancients Written by:  anon Edited by: anon's cousin, who doesn't have an account on FFN 

Disclaimer: The usual, none of the characters are mine.  JKR is the creator, blah, blah, blah. The name of Harry's ancestor isn't my property either, but I won't tell where it's from, as that will spoil the surprise. I will inform you of the true owner of the ancestor's name in the next chapter's disclaimer. Anything you may recognize from another fic is either coincidental, meaning it's from a fic I haven't read, accidental, meaning it's from a fic that I have read, but forgot it came from someone else's work, in which case I apologize, or is something that I thought up, but someone else used in a similar way before I had the chance to post this, if that makes sense. Does anybody even read these things?

(A/N: First of all, I apologize profusely for the delay. Things were pretty hectic with school ending, and some other stuff was going on as well. Once again, I apologize. However, the second chapter is finally here, and I would like to thank everyone who was kind enough to review, and send special thanks to Devil-Angel-sWEETY for telling me how to get the proper format working. Well, I've kept you waiting long enough, so without further ado…)

Chapter Two: Ancestors and Heirs

Harry awoke to find himself in the middle of a desert. He was surrounded by sand dunes, which stretched out like oceans as far as the eye could see. He noticed that there was something different about the sky. It was a pure, bright white, but Harry couldn't see the sun anywhere.

"This is one weird dream," Harry said to himself. 

          "This is not a dream, Harry," said a man standing behind him.

          Harry turned around and found himself face to face with a relatively tall man, a little more than six feet tall. His hair was as dark as Harry's, but it was also much longer and more well kept. His eyes were dark green; so dark they were almost black. His skin was much darker than Harry's as well, but since he seemed to live in the desert, this was not surprising. Despite some minor differences, the man looked like an older version of Harry.

The strange man also seemed to radiate a feeling of power that Harry had only ever seen in Professor Dumbledore, but this man seemed much stronger than the Headmaster. Dumbledore's strength was subtler and required some effort to see, unless he was angry or someone looked into his eyes, but this man's power seeped from his entire body. It would have been impossible to miss, even if Harry hadn't been looking.

          "What is this place? Who are you?" Harry asked.

          "This," he said, gesturing at the sand around him, "is a spiritual dream world. Myself and two of your other ancestors brought you here so we could tell you about your heritage and your true powers."

          "What do you mean my 'true powers'?"

          "Be patient, lad, I'll get to the powers later. First, let me introduce myself. I am Methos, one of your oldest ancestors. You, Harry Potter, are my third heir."

          "Third heir? Who were the first two?"

          "They will be arriving momentarily," Methos replied, and as he said it, Harry heard two strange popping sounds, and two men appeared behind Methos with a flash of light.

          The first man had long white hair and an even longer beard. He looked similar to Dumbledore, but his hair was less bushy than the headmaster's, and his eyes were brown, not blue.

          The other man's appearance shocked Harry almost as much as his realizing that he liked Hermione. The man looked exactly like Harry, except for some very small differences. His eyes, for example, were brown and had no glasses on them, and he was slightly taller than Methos.  

          After giving Harry a moment to examine the new arrivals, Methos broke the silence.  "Harry, this is Merlin, my first heir," Methos explained, motioning toward the bearded man, "and Godric Gryffindor, my second. Merlin, Godric, meet my third heir, Harry Potter." 

          Merlin and Godric approached Harry and shook his hand. "Nice to meet you, Harry," said Merlin.

          "I'm very honored to meet you both, but what does it mean to be the  'third heir'?"

          "You don't know?" Godric asked. "Didn't you learn about rare magical phenomena at Hogwarts?"

          "Godric, enough questions, just let me explain it to him," Methos snapped. "Come with me, Harry. I'll describe how the Heir Loop works," he began.  As he started walking in a seemingly random direction, he continued, "First, it starts with a very powerful wizard, or mage, in this case, me. If the wizard's magical potential is great enough, He will be given the necessary knowledge needed to begin an Heir Loop."

          "Who gives you that knowledge?" Harry asked.

          "No one knows. Whoever, or _whatever_ it is prevents us from knowing where the information comes from. I understand your curiosity Harry, but please don't interrupt me; I will get to your questions after I am done. As I was saying, once the process has begun, heirs are produced that also have special powers. The first heir is about one-half as strong as the original mage, and the second heir is about one-third as strong as the original. The third heir, however, is different. For some reason, the third heir is supposedly _twice_ as powerful as the original and the first two heirs, _combined_."

          Out of all the shocks that Harry had that day, this topped them all. He couldn't possible be that powerful, could he? He had always struggled at school. If he was really as powerful as Methos said, why wasn't he at the top of all his classes, and even smarter then Hermione? Why couldn't he just go and defeat Voldemort right now?

          "I know what you are thinking, Harry." Methos said with some amusement. "Your abilities have not manifested themselves yet, so you do not seem as powerful as you will someday be. It's not safe for a child to be so powerful; you might have accidentally killed someone. We would have allowed you to maintain your full mental potential and then awakened your powers, but unfortunately, that was impossible. The only way we could safely suppress your magical strength involved hampering your intellect as well. Your powers and mind have been waiting until the right time to expand. That time is tonight, which means that now your powers will begin to arise from their dormancy and unleash their full potential.

"We have found that intellectual abilities begin to increase first, before true magical power is unleashed. After all, what good is all that power if you aren't smart enough to use it? Take your classmate Neville Longbottom, for example: he is actually above average magically, but the reason he always makes mistakes in class is because he's…well, a little less mentally developed. Power and intelligence, though sometimes connected, are two separate things, Harry. Never forget that.

"Beginning tonight, you mental prowess will increase so that by your birthday, your mind will be at its full potential. I recommend that you wait a week or so until starting your homework. By that point, you shouldn't have any problem at all. When your mind is fully unlocked, you will be an equal your '_friend'_ Hermione in academics. She is extremely intelligent, and will still be better than you in some classes, but in others, you may take over the top spot. I think that at the end of the year, you two will be sharing the top spot for grades."

Harry laughed a little at the thought of being as smart as Hermione. He would have thought it impossible, but he had a feeling he should trust the information he was getting. Until he tried studying with his full intelligence, though, he would remain skeptical.

"Your increased magical powers, Harry," Methos continued, "will also begin to appear, but at a much slower rate than your mind. They will really begin to show themselves after your birthday, and will stop growing at about the time you return to school. We believe that having your powers grow slowly is for the best, so that the changes will not be as overwhelming. We will be contacting you again on your birthday."

          "Wait a minute!" Harry said. "There are so many things that I still need to know from you. Are you sure I'm your heir?"

          "If you were not my heir, Harry, I could not have brought you here," Methos stated simply. 

          "And where are we?" Harry went on. "I know it is supposed to represent some place on earth, but I just can't think where it is." 

          "This is Egypt," Methos replied. "Egypt as I knew it, almost six-thousand years ago."

          "You're _that_ old!?!?!?!"

          "Age is a measure of how long you _live_, my boy. I assure you that I am quite dead and have been for a very long time."

          "So you're saying that my family comes from Egypt?"

          "Originally, yes. After I died, my descendants wandered the earth for forty-four centuries. They settled in Britannia about one hundred years before Merlin was born, and have remained, for the most part, ever since."

          "You see, Harry," said Godric, "in you, there is at least a small blood connection to almost every great wizarding civilization."

          "Godric is right, Harry," Merlin said. "It is important that you learn about those cultures. They are part of your heritage, but more than that, there are magical techniques and spells that died out when wizards began to communicate and share knowledge. Each society had its own way of doing magic and casting spells, which reflected their language and culture. I suggest you try to learn as many languages as you can, both ancient and modern. They will help you immensely in your magical advancement. You should begin to study as soon as possible, and continue throughout the summer.

          "Where am I supposed to learn all that from? I don't have anything other than my text books."

          "We nearly forgot. As a gift, we are giving you this." Methos extended his hand, and a large trunk appeared at Harry's feet. It looked like Moody's magical trunk, but instead of seven keyholes, there were nine ovals, all in different colors.

          "The password to shrink it is '_Phoenix_,' and to enlarge it, '_Dragon'_. To open a chamber, press your thumb against an oval, and say, '_Gryphon'_. The first four compartments are normal sized, for your clothes, schoolbooks, quidditch things, and just random possessions you may want easy access to. The fifth and sixth compartments are much larger storage areas. The seventh is a four-room flat, with a living room, a bedroom, a bathroom, and a kitchen with an icebox that is always cold and that will never empty. Compartment eight is a grand library that has all the books you will need for your summer studies. The ninth compartment is an outdoor training area where you can exercise and practice your skills.

"The best part about the trunk is that in the last three chambers, time is extended: six hours inside equals one hour outside, except for the library, where one day equals one minute. You should have plenty of time to study in there, Harry" Methos said with a chuckle. "Another thing is that in the larger compartments that you can enter, there will be a replica of the trunk, so that you can have access to your supplies and travel between the compartments. Also, you can do magic in the trunk, and the Ministry won't be able to detect it. In addition to that, being in the trunk will also block your connection to Voldemort. That, combined with the peaceful slumber spell that the bedroom emits, should ensure that you won't have to worry about visions, burning scars, or nightmares this summer."

          "Wow! This is…thank you!" Harry said.

          "Use it well, young one. Use it well." Methos said smiling.

          Godric cleared his throat to get Harry's attention, "Harry, there are a few more things that you should know, like the physical changes you will experience because of your powers. When you wake up, you won't need your glasses anymore. Your eyesight will not only be fixed, but also enhanced; all of your senses will be. You will also be able to heal yourself and recover from injuries faster than a normal person. This also means that your muscles will need less time to rest after exercise, so you will be able to get stronger faster than normal people. You'll get used to those long morning and evening runs within a week or two, and after that, they will seem like warm-up exercises. The last change I'll mention, which is quite amusing from our point of view, is that your looks will change slightly and many girls will start to notice you.  Heirs tend to become incredibly handsome after their abilities begin to develop," he said, with an amused smirk. There are some other changes as well, but I'm sure you'll figure them out on your own.

          "Is there anything else I should know?" asked Harry.

          "Well, if you want a suggestion about how to get your hair under control, I think you should let it grow out a bit, similar to Methos. His hair is just like yours when it is short, but when it's long, it's too heavy to stick up."

          "I never thought about that," Harry said. "Thanks for the advice. I'll try it."

          "Well, Harry," said Methos. "I wish we could stay and chat, but our time is almost up."

          "We'll contact you again on your birthday," said Merlin.

          "Now, however, we have to go, and so do you," Godric said.

          "Goodbye, my young heir, and good luck."

          It was with these words from his ancestors that the dream world faded away, and the dream ended, replaced by one about Hermione. For the first time in almost two weeks, the boy-who-lived actually enjoyed being asleep.

(A/N: That was the second chapter of Harry Potter and the Heir of Ancients. Hope you liked it. Please review with comments and/or compliments and/or constructive criticism. Also, I have currently written through most of the summer, and I need some ideas for the names of a few first years, and some of the spells and such that the fifth years will be learning. If it's about a part of the year that I haven't written or already have plans for, then I'm open to suggestions. If I really like an idea, I'll try to find a way to incorporate it into the story. One more thing, just in case you were worrying, the original characters present in this story will NOT have major roles; they are just there to help fill the space between the important stuff, and maybe provide a little comic relief. And this really IS the last thing, the typing of Chapter 3 is more than half finished, so it won't take nearly as long to update as it did last time. Thank you, and please review.)


	3. Chapter 3: Summer Job and Changes

Harry Potter and the Heir of Ancients Written by:  anon Edited by: anon's cousin, who doesn't have an account on FFN 

Disclaimer: The usual, none of the characters are mine.  JKR is the creator, blah, blah, blah. The name of Harry's ancestor, Methos, is the property of whoever owns the Highlander series. I just needed the name of someone very old. Merlin isn't the property of anyone, except possibly British culture, and as that isn't an entity capable of suing me, I don't need to disclaim him. Anything you may recognize from another fic is either coincidental, meaning it's from a fic I haven't read, accidental, meaning it's from a fic that I have read, but forgot it came from someone else's work, in which case I apologize, or is something that I thought up, but someone else used in a similar way before I had the chance to post this, if that makes sense. Does anybody even read these things?

(A/N: Here it is, Chapter Three, just like I promised. And it's on time, too, thanks to my excellent beta reader, who is currently visiting me, which really sped up the process. I'd like to thank everyone who has reviewed, all fifty-something of you. And finally, here we go…)

Chapter Three: Summer Job and Changes 

When Harry awoke that morning, his first thought was '_What a weird dream!_' His second thought, after noticing how clearly he could see with his glasses on the bedside table, and the multi-chamber trunk next to the door, was '_Holy shit! That wasn't a dream; it was real! It's true! I am the third heir of Methos!!!'_

After his initial shock, he realized he was extremely tired, and he wondered why? Then he saw the clock. '_2:45 am. Why am I up this early if I didn't have a nightmare?_' He sighed as he remembered his new job. He only had fifteen minutes to get ready and leave for work if he wanted to get there on time. '_Wait a minute_,' he thought to himself. '_Merlin said that compartment seven of my trunk is a flat with everything I need, and that six hours inside is only one hour outside. That means that for every hour I spend inside, only ten minutes pass outside, so I have an hour-and-a-half to get ready. Perfect!' _With this thought, Harry realized that he was getting smarter already. Normally he would have completely forgotten about the trunk, but he was very glad that now he could remember important information when he needed to.

Harry pressed the seventh oval and said the password to open it. He climbed inside and gasped. He was faced with the most comfortable-looking room he had ever seen in his life. It was similar to the Gryffindor common room's style, but was slightly smaller and had somewhat nicer furniture.

In the middle of the rear wall was a massive fireplace, and positioned around it were a number of chairs and couches that looked softer than he could imagine. On the walls around the fireplace there were decorative displays of muggle weapons: swords, daggers, spears, shields, axes, bows and arrows, and many others Harry didn't recognize. He assumed they had been collected during the travels of his ancestors. From the ladder, Harry looked to his right and saw two doors and a small archway, each with a sign above indicating where it led. The two doors were on the right wall and led to the bedroom and bath accordingly, and through the arc was the kitchen. Around the doors were paintings, tapestries, and small bookcases. The whole room radiated a sense of comfort and warmth, and was instantly put on Harry's very short list of "favorite paces." 

Figuring that he should probably start getting ready, Harry went through the door labeled "bathroom" and let out another gasp. It was not as nice as the prefect's bathroom, but it was pretty close. It was made of marble: black, white, and a little bit of red, and charmed so that it wouldn't feel cold. Sunk into one corner of the room was a bathtub that was so large deep that Hagrid probably could have used it if he needed to. Next to the tub was a shower, and in the other corner was a toilet. A few feet down the wall from the toilet was the sink, and as he passed it the mirror said, "You need more sleep, you look terrible!" On the wall opposite the tub and shower was an incredibly life like mural of a mermaid who looked like a veela. It almost looked like a photograph it was so realistic. She smiled beautifully at him and said "Hey there, cutie, come by here often?" Harry blushed very red at this statement because he had not noticed her until she had spoken to him, and by then he had already removed all of his clothes and was stepping into the shower. He jumped inside very quickly and turned the water on, pleased to feel that it automatically went to the exact temperature he wanted: very hot.

After he had showered, he dried himself off with a warm, fluffy towel and put on a bathrobe made of the same material. He exited the bathroom through a small side door into the bedroom, thinking he might find some clothes in there. After examining the king-sized four-poster bed with Gryffindor colors on the sheets, blankets, and comforters, he found a closet with a wide variety of wizard robes and muggle clothing. Harry selected a pair of black shorts, sneakers, and a dark green tee shirt and got dressed. He then made his way to the kitchen.

Once inside, he found the icebox and marveled at the incredible selection of food. He quickly decided on eggs, sausage, toast, and potatoes, watching in amazement as the food he had taken was instantly replaced. '_It never goes empty_,' Harry thought with glee. Now he wouldn't have to starve on Dudley's diet!

After eating, Harry let the food settle in his stomach for a few minutes, stretched for his run, and left the trunk. He wanted to check out the rest of the trunk, but he realized that he had no choice but to wait until he got back.

Very quietly, he left the house and did a little more stretching. He then set off for work one minute ahead of schedule, 2:59 AM.

~*~*~*~*~

Near the end of his journey, Harry recapped the last three and a half hours in his mind. For the first two miles, he had been able to keep up his jogging pace. This confused him, as he could not remember ever being able to run continuously for such a long distance before. Then he realized that an increase in endurance must have been one of the "physical benefits" that Godric had mentioned. After that, however, Harry was acting like any other person who was unaccustomed to long runs. He alternated between periods of jogging and walking. The periods of jogging steadily grew shorter and shorter, and when he had to walk, he struggled to breathe and tried to get the cramps out of his ribs and sides. _'Don't worry, Harry,'_ he thought to himself, _'you'll get used to this real quick, remember?'_ But these thoughts served as only a small comfort to his legs, which felt like lead weights attached to pieces of rubber, and his burning lungs didn't care at all.

Then, just when he was certain he would pass out, the plant came into view down the road. When he actually arrived, Harry took a moment to catch his breath and check his new watch. He had found it among a pile of Dudley's recently discarded possessions, but it worked fine, so Harry took it and put it to use.

Harry was ten minutes early, and remembering Vernon's instructions from the previous evening, Harry sought out his employer, a man named Daniel Stone.

Mr. Stone, however, found Harry first. (A/N: Because I can't write accents nearly as well as I can imitate them, I will simply indicate when a character is speaking in an accent other than standard British. In Mr. Stone's case, the accent is Welsh.) "Hey! Are you Harry Potter?" Harry turned to face one of the largest men he had ever seen. Not in weight, though: Vernon and Dudley were still the top two places on that list. This man was large in terms of height and muscle. He must have been at least seven feet tall, towering over Harry's five feet even, and weighed well over 300 pounds, most of which seemed to be muscle. The man seemed like he could easily defeat anyone who wanted to fight him, and if he ever fought Hagrid, he might even last a few minutes. Despite Mr. Stone's gargantuan stature, Harry wasn't nervous at all. He had the distinct feeling that Stone, though very large, was just as gentle and friendly as Hagrid, but probably did have a little temper.

"Yeah, I'm Harry," he replied.

"Good to meet you, Harry. I'm Dan Stone. Your uncle told me about you, but you don't need to worry about me thinking you're a delinquent; it was obvious that he was exaggerating. Wait a minute," he paused, pulling what appeared to be a photograph from one of his pockets, and scrutinizing it carefully. "Do you need to wear your glasses to work?"

"No, I don't need them anymore," Harry said, but knew that some elaboration was expected, so he continued, "I got contacts near the end of the school year." 

(A/N: I know that in the books, the Dursleys didn't have any pictures of Harry, but let's just pretend they got one by accident, OK?) 

"Oh. All right then, Harry, follow me. And by the way," he said as he started walking, "we're pretty informal around here. We call each other by either our first or last names; no 'mister's, no 'sir's, just names, understand?"

"Yes. What should I call you, though; Dan, or Stone?"

"Whichever, but you'll probably end up using Stone; there are at least six men here named Dan, so we all just go by last names out of necessity. Well, I think we've wasted enough time here. Let's get you started, shall we?" As he finished talking, they arrived at an open space in front of a conveyor belt where Harry assumed he would be working.

"That line of machines over there is where the sacks are filled and sealed," said Stone, who had to start shouting to be heard over the noise the machinery was making. "After the bags are sealed, they get sent down the belt. That's where you come in: you take the bags off the belt and carry them to that pallet over there." He pointed to a short square wooden frame on the ground about fifteen feet behind them. "Once you've got twenty-four on that thing, press this button to call a forklift to come for it. The lift might also bring some empty pallets for you, but while you're waiting for it to come, you can catch your breath. I'm going to have you start with the fifty-pound bags. When that gets too easy for you, come talk to me and I'll see if I can move you up to the hundred-pounders. I really don't think this will happen, but if _that _gets too easy, you might get to work in the 150-pound line, the heaviest we make. You get all that, Harry?"

"All of it," Harry replied.

"Good, lad. Now remember: don't go too fast, pace yourself. You've got four hours until lunch, and four more afterward. If you don't get used to the workload first, you'll wear yourself out. Good luck, Potter."

"Thanks, Stone," Harry said. Stone walked away, pointing toward the belt as he left. Harry turned and saw the first bag moving down the line. He picked it up and carried it to the wooden frame behind him, then turned around and walked back to get the next one. _'That wasn't too hard,'_ Harry thought.

Thirty minutes later…

_'I'm gonna die.'_ He had done fine for the first few minutes, but he was quite out of shape, and at that point, his arms were starting to feel as bad as his legs, and he was sweating profusely.

How he made it through the four hours until lunch break, Harry never knew. He wolfed down the sandwiches he had brought like a starving man, which he was, and wondered what he would do for the rest of the hour, apart from drinking a few quarts of water. Noticing a few of the younger workers laying outside in the sun, he decided to join them. Though annoyed at first by their jibes about his pale skin, Harry realized that they were actually quite funny. _'Besides,' _he thought with a smirk, _'at the rate I heal, they won't be able to make cracks like that for long.'_

Harry returned to work with slightly recovered limbs, and a very red upper body. Apparently, he burned very easily. Another four hours later, Harry began the long run back to Privet Drive. He could no longer feel his arms at all, and was unsure about whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. His legs, he was pleased to feel, had almost completely recovered from their exertions that morning, and even improved slightly: he was able to continue jogging for another quarter-mile before he began to get winded. In spite of his exhaustion, he was quite pleased with the progress he had made in just one day.

~*~*~*~*~

Harry arrived back at Privet Drive just after 9:00 PM. The trip had taken an hour longer than he expected because at 6:30, unable to ignore his growling stomach any longer, he had stopped at a restaurant he was passing by to have dinner. It wasn't very fancy, but the food had been good, and the people who worked there did not try to keep him out because of his sweat-soaked clothes, though a small group of elderly women seated nearby glared and crinkled their noses at him.

When he walked into Number Four, he was immediately greeted by a bellow from Vernon. "Where the Devil have you been, boy?"

"It's a twelve mile walk, Uncle Vernon. What did you expect?"

"You got off at 4:00. That was five hours ago! Even a freak like you should have only taken four hours, so where were you?"

"I had some money, and I was hungry, so I stopped to get some dinner on the way back, alright?"

"Very well then, boy. Just call the next time you'll be late."

"Okay, Uncle Vernon. I think I'll just go up to bed, I'm really tired."

Harry was about halfway up the stairs when Vernon spoke again:

"A letter arrived this morning while we were eating breakfast. It was brought to the table by an _owl_."

"Where is it?" Harry asked, confused. The Owl-Repelling Ward was supposed to be in place.

"It wasn't addressed to _you_, it was for Petunia and I. It was from your headmaster."

Now it made sense. If professor Dumbledore did send a letter, he would wait until after the post owl had delivered it before casting the ward.

"What did it say?" Harry asked, somewhat anxiously. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he had a pretty strong suspicion of what it said. He noticed that the television in the living room, which had been blaring only moments before, was muted. Apparently, Dudley and Aunt Petunia were listening in on the conversation.

"Read it yourself," Vernon said, pulling the folded parchment out of his inside pocket and rudely tossing it to Harry.

 Harry, despite his uncle's horribly aimed throw, effortlessly caught the correspondence, unfolded it, and began to read:

_'Dear Mr. and Mrs. Dursley,_

_'I am writing to inform you that a ward is to be placed over your home to prevent post owls from delivering mail except from myself in emergency situations. Harry should already have explained this to you on your trip home from the train station yesterday. The spell shall be lifted for one hour, from ten o'clock to eleven o'clock in the evening on the night of Harry's birthday, so that we will be able to send him his supply list and so his friends may send him gifts; you only turn fifteen once, you know._

_'There is another reason for this correspondence, however. Harry probably has not told you about this, but I feel that, you, as his guardians, have a right to know. This past year at Hogwarts, a special tournament was held for the first time in over a century. Traditionally, this tournament has only three competitors, but a dark wizard who had infiltrated the school disguised as a teacher made it so Harry was chosen as a fourth champion. By the rules of the tournament, Harry was forced to compete and did so quite admirably despite being at least three years younger than his opponents. Harry won the tournament, but when he touched the championship cup, he and another champion were transported to the Dark Wizard Voldemort, the man who killed Harry's parents. It was later revealed by one of Voldemort's servants that Harry had been entered into the tournament in a plot to return Voldemort to his former strength._

_The other boy was killed in front of Harry. Then Harry had to endure the Dark Lord's resurrection, where his own blood was a key ingredient.'_

Harry paused at this point, unconsciously clutching his forearm where Wormtail's silver dagger had penetrated his skin.  He continued reading:

_'Harry faced many terrors that night. Twice, he was tortured with a very powerful dark curse, whose very use is punishable by life imprisonment. Harry was forced to duel with Voldemort, and narrowly escaped with his life. What is most impressive, however, is that in his escape, he put himself in even greater danger to return the body of his fallen classmate for a proper burial. Such a display of honor and courage I have not seen in many years, and I am immensely proud of Harry for it. Many fully trained wizards would not have been able to show such courage in the face of danger._

_Now that you know what Harry has been through, I hope you will be easy on him because he is still recovering from this traumatic ordeal. I would also like to thank you for obtaining a job for Harry, as it will help him pull through this difficult time.___

_                                       With regards,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

_Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry'_

         After reading the letter, Harry handed it back to Vernon.

         "So, is it true?" asked Vernon.

         Harry could see Aunt Petunia and Dudley as well, and they were all waiting for his answer. "Is what true?" Harry asked.

         "The part about you being captured and tortured, and watching that other boy die. Is it true?"

         "Yes. All of it," responded Harry.

         "What does it feel like? That dark curse your professor mentioned," asked Petunia.

         Harry visibly shuddered at the memory, but decided to tell them anyway. "Imagine all of the pain you have ever felt. Then pretend you are feeling it all at once.'

         "That doesn't sound so bad," grunted Dudley. "If you freaks think that is torture, you all must be sissies."

         Harry smirked. "I wasn't finished. All that pain is magnified one thousand-fold, and you feel it all throughout your body. Words can't properly capture the pain one endures during the curse. It is so horrible that when repeated, it can cause a person to go crazy.

         The Dursley's didn't respond to Harry's last comment, so after a moment, he turned and went to his room. No one even tried to stop him.

         As he entered his room, he realized he only had six hours before he had to leave for work, so he started to get ready for bed. As he was walking toward his bed, he stubbed his toe on the new trunk and remembered that on the inside, time was extended. He climbed down into the trunk and went to the bathroom, filling the tub and relaxing in the hot water.  By the time he got out, he was too tired to even notice the mermaid in the mural giggling at him in a way that even Parvati Patil and Lavendar Brown would have considered too flirty.  Harry mindlessly dried off and staggered into the bedroom. He put on a pair of shorts he found in the closet, went over to the bed, and collapsed onto it. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

~*~*~*~*~

         Two hours later (outside time), Harry awoke feeling better than he had in weeks. He realized that he somehow knew _exactly_ what time it was outside, though he did not have a clock or a watch. After briefly pondering this matter, he concluded that he must have some kind of internal clock. _'Yet another strange ability,' _he thought. Though it was not an overly incredible talent, it would be invaluable in helping him keep track of the outside time while within the trunk, as he would without a doubt be spending a great deal of time inside it.

         He decided to first investigate the rest of the flat and become more familiar with it. He found that the amazingly soft furniture in the living room was extremely pleasing and that the kitchen contained simple furnishings. It was not particularly luxurious, but was complimented nicely with dishes of solid gold and cups that were eggshell thin, unbreakable, and seemed to be carved from large gems. The kitchen was exactly as it was supposed to be, at least in Harry's opinion, and he guessed that it somehow reminded him of the house he and his parents had once lived in. Re-entering the bedroom, he appreciated the warmth and comfort that seemed to radiate from the place. The thick, soft carpet and the king size, four poster bed made him feel so comfortable that he wanted to go back to sleep despite the fact that he had been awake for a while inside the trunk, and had slept over twelve hours prior to that. He looked in his closet and found a note that he had overlooked before:

_Harry,_

_    We thought you could use some decent cloths. After all you are an heir and should be dressed accordingly. You can still buy some cloths with your earnings, but now you won't need so many.___

_                                                        Enjoy,_

_Methos__, __Merlin__, and __Godric_

         Harry grinned at this; they really knew how to give gifts.  

Harry then went to the trunk replica and decided to go to the training area in the ninth compartment. After he entered, he found himself in a standing in the center of a circle. Branching out from the circle were various environments, like pieces of a pie. As Harry looked out, he saw deserts, forests, beaches, plains, hills, mountains, and many more. '_They did say this place was for exercising. I guess after training here I will be able to survive in just about any environment._'

After exploring the training area, Harry thought it would be a good idea to spend a little time getting to know where some good books would be. Again Harry went to a trunk replica, opened the eighth chamber, and climbed down the ladder. He turned around and his jaw dropped. He was in the most enormous room he had ever seen. After a moment of staring in awe, he realized that this area was not just one library, but dozens of libraries, each with a different language and all much larger than the library at Hogwarts. '_Hermione would go crazy if she knew about this place,_' Harry thought to himself as he began to walk around, once again feeling the sensation of warmth and happiness that come whenever he thought of her. He was becoming quite familiar with the feeling, as he had been thinking of her almost constantly since he had realized that he like her in _that way_. '_I really do have it bad.'_

[Editors Note: This is a crazy conversation in Harry's head.  If you would like to skip it go right ahead, although you might just get a kick out of it.]

_Is that such a bad thing?_ Said a little voice in the back of his head.

_Who are you?_

_I am you._

_No you're not. I'm me._

_Of course you are. But I am you, too._

_What?_

_I am you. Or at least a part of you. The part that is more rational, and the part that helps you fight the Imperious curse. You are the more emotional part. _(A/N: He's not crazy. But I am. MWAHAHAHA!!!) _An important part of growing up is learning to balance the two parts, although I'm sure it isn't common for the two parts to converse. You and I will learn to work together in harmony so we can maintain our sanity._

_OOH-KAAAY. I take it that's a good thing?_

_Very. Now lets get back to our original topic._

_Which was what?_

_Hermione. Is it really such a bad thing that you like her?_

_Of course it is!_

_Why?_

_Well… She is already dating Krum, I know that Ron likes her too, she's my best friend, and, oh, lets not forget that if we were together, it would be like putting a target on her back that said, "Hey Voldy, come and get me!"_

_Whoa. Calm down. Those are all good points, but here are a few of my observations that might interest you. One- She doesn't seem to like Krum that much, and they probably won't be dating much longer anyway. Two- Ron's feelings seem fairly one sided. He likes her, but she doesn't seem to like him in that way. Three- Being best friends is actually a good thing because you already know each other very well, and your friendship should last even if the relationship doesn't. Also, she is already a target because she is your friend, and because she is muggle-born. You and her being together won't change that, so don't worry._

_But what about Ron? If Hermione and I get together, Ron would hate me for it._

_If Ron can't accept the feelings you and Hermione have for each other, he isn't as a good a friend as you think he is._

_I guess you're right. Thanks, you really made me feel better._

_Glad I could help. Now stop wasting time and start studying. You have a lot to learn, and although your time and resources are limited, your potential is not._

[E/N: Didn't I tell you it would be fun.  J ]

         Harry, the normal Harry, was a little surprised at how eager he was to begin learning. Two weeks earlier, the prospect of studying would have repulsed him; now, however, it seemed that studying would be … fun. He guessed that a love of learning was a very fortunate side effect of his increased intellect. After all, Hermione was the smartest witch he knew, and she loved to learn new things as much as Dudley loved too eat.

         Harry decided to begin looking around, as he only had about a half hour outside the trunk before he had to leave for work. But then he remembered that one minute in the real world equaled a whole day in the library. He could study for a full month before he had to go to work. Harry was about to go exploring, starting from the English section, but before he got there, he found another note form his ancestors:__

_Harry,_

_    There is another thing about the trunk that we neglected to tell you. No matter how long you stay inside, your body will age as if it were still in the real world. You could spend a decade in the library, but you would only age about three days. Also, when you are in the library, you will not need food, water, or sleep, but if you do want anything, there is a small room next to the ladder with a bed, ice box, and bathroom._

_                                                        Happy Studying,_

_Methos__, __Merlin__, and __Godric_

         After spending another moment marveling at his ancestor's generosity, Harry ventured into the stacks where the English books were located. (A/N: Books written in English, not books on English grammar.) He decided that the best place to start was with his schoolbooks, and he quickly found all the books he would need for his remaining years at Hogwarts. While he was looking at schoolbooks, he grabbed his previous year's books so he could review and memorize everything.

         He started with his first year's books and was amazed at how everything that had once seemed so confusing was now becoming crystal clear. He was also astonished that he remembered everything that he was reading. He guessed that this would save him some time because he would not need to reread the difficult books when he got smarter in order to understand them. By the time he had to leave, Harry had read all of his previous books, as well as books for his next two years at Hogwarts. Harry was amazed at how quickly he could read and at how easy the new spells were becoming. In one month he had mastered six years of magical education, two of which were completely new to him, and he had done it without too much effort. Realizing that he had to get to work, he exited the trunk and stealthy left number four. 

~*~*~*~*~

         In the following weeks, Harry settled into a daily routine. Each morning he left for work, jogging a little more each day. After about three weeks, Harry was able to jog all the way to work without getting winded, so he decided to run. He reasoned that it would be useful to be able to run at top speed for long distances. As with the jogging, he was able to run a little more each day, though his progress was somewhat slower. 

         At work everyone was amazed at how quickly Harry got used to the hard labor and how such a young man could get strong so quickly. He didn't eat lunch, preferring instead to lounge out in the sun. He skin had taken on a slightly tanned shade, no longer able to blend in with a cup of milk. A few days before his birthday, Harry asked Mr. Stone, his boss, if he could move on to the one hundred pound bags, as the lighter ones no longer seemed challenging. Stone complied, but only after observing Harry work with the fifty-pound bags, moving them as if they were empty.

         After work Harry would return to Privet Drive and immediately enter his flat in the seventh compartment, where he would then eat a very satisfying meal. He was now almost as good a cook as Mrs. Weasley, or the elves at Hogwarts. After dinner, Harry would take a brief shower before heading to bed. When he woke, he would take a long bath to relax his muscles for the day ahead. He had grown accustomed to the mermaid mural, and now only her most lewd teasing could make him blush.

         He divided his remaining time between studying and training, usually three hours for study, and two for training (trunk time: 6 months, and 12 hours, respectively). He made quick work of the English library, reading most of its contents in a little over a week (which is pretty impressive, considering the size of the library). Harry, desperately seeking more knowledge to satisfy his rapidly expanding mind, decided to make use of a language-learning spell and explore some other parts of the library. Within two days he had learned a wide variety of modern languages. When he was done, he know too many to list. After that he moved on to ancient tongues, such as Egyptian, Greek, Hyksos, Latin, and many others. He could now speak, read, write, and understand almost every single language, including the ancient runes which he and Ron once taunted Hermione for learning.

         After he had finished learning a multitude of languages, he moved to other sections of the library, taking his time and savoring every piece of information. In his travels, he came upon a N.E.W.T. practice book and found that he had mastered everything that would be on the exam. Even with all this knowledge, he was still humble, and didn't mind having to continue his schooling. When he had fifteen minutes before he had to leave, he entered the flat and got ready for work. He showered, ate, and got dressed before leaving the trunk and heading to work.

~*~*~*~*~

         The day before his birthday, Harry began his usual routine. He bathed, having and unusually pleasant conversation with the mermaid on the wall, but when he went to brush his teeth, he saw something that shocked him to the very core of his being.

         It was his reflection! There was no possible way that the person he saw in the mirror was himself. Harry was short, scrawny, and overly thin, but the person in the mirror had developing muscles all over his body, and was taller than Harry by an inch or so. His hair was longer, hanging down to his neck, and beyond that, the person Harry was looking at could have been considered handsome. '_That is definitely not me,' _Harry thought. _'The mirror must be broken.'_

         "Excuse me," Harry asked the mirror, "but are you broken or something?"

         "No. Of course not," the mirror replied indignantly. "Why do you ask?"

         "Well, I am looking into you right now, and I know that the reflection is definitely not me. So, what's up?"

         "I assure you, dear boy, that really _is _your reflection. How could you not recognize your own refle--- Oh, I see. You've seen your reflection every day, but you haven't paid any attention until just now. Isn't that right?"

         "Yea, I guess so," replied Harry, realizing that the mirror was absolutely right. He really hadn't paid any attention to his reflection for the past few months, which made the changes he had undergone all the more startling. '_I know Gryffindor said I would experience some changes, but I didn't think they would be this drastic or this fast,'_ he thought.

         Harry pondered many things that day: Hermione, his changed appearance, Hermione, certain things he taught himself over the summer, Hermione, the gifts he would be receiving the next day, Hermione, the promise of another meeting with his ancestors, and Hermione, as just a few examples of what was on his mind (A/N: He is quite obsessed with her, isn't he?). As he went to sleep that night, he couldn't shake the feeling that tomorrow would be even more unusual than he originally thought.

(A/N: That was the third chapter of Harry Potter and the Heir of Ancients. Hope you liked it. Please review with comments and/or compliments and/or constructive criticism. 

Once again, I need some ideas for the names of a few first years, and some of the spells and such that the fifth years will be learning. If it's about a part of the year that I haven't written or already have plans for, then I'm open to suggestions. If I really like an idea, I'll try to find a way to incorporate it into the story.

I'm also starting a review poll to help determine other pairings in this fic. Please leave your vote in a review, but only one per person; this isn't American Idol, that disgrace of a TV show. 

I haven't even started typing Chapter Four yet, but I will work on it as much as I can. Besides, the real fifth book comes out in less than 36 hours, which will probably keep us all busy. I renew my promise that no matter what, I will eventually finish this story. Thank you, and please review.)


	4. Chapter 4: An Unusual Birthday

Harry Potter and the Heir of Ancients Written by:  anon Edited by: anon's cousin, who doesn't have an account on FFN 

Disclaimer: The usual, none of the characters are mine.  JKR is the creator, blah, blah, blah. Anything you don't recognize from canon is mine. Anything you may recognize from another fic is either coincidental, meaning it's from a fic I haven't read, accidental, meaning it's from a fic that I have read, but forgot it came from someone else's work, in which case I apologize, or is something that I thought up, but someone else used in a similar way before I had the chance to post this, if that makes sense. Does anybody even read these things?

Even though this story is now officially an A/U, I will continue writing it until I have finished. The real OotP, though not nearly as good as I expected, did give me some ideas. You may notice in near-future chapters that certain elements from OotP have been incorporated into this story, while others have been left out. I won't tell you what they are, though. I will also be slightly modifying everything that I have written after the end of this chapter in order to correspond to information Rowling gave us about general knowledge of the Wizarding world, i.e., Metamorphmagi and the Wizengamut.

(A/N: I know that this chapter is ridiculously late, and though I will not needlessly take up space groveling, I want you all to know that I am more sorry than words can describe. The reasons for the delay are numerous, and I'm sure you don't want to read them.  I've kept you waiting too long as it is, so without further adieu, on with the fic.)

Chapter 4: An Unusual Birthday 

When Harry awoke on his birthday, he momentarily forgot that it _was_ his birthday. He was overjoyed when he finally remembered. He realized that he was fifteen and he would be hearing from his friends that night for the first time since the Hogwarts Express. He would also be contacted by his ancestors again, and his true powers would finally begin to reveal themselves.

Harry didn't have many specifics on his new powers, but he was still a bit overwhelmed by the small description his ancestors gave. He had done more than enough reading over the past few weeks to get a sense of how powerful Godric was, and after remembering what Methos had told him about Heir Loops, Harry realized that he would be eleven times stronger than Gryffindor. Harry couldn't imagine what it would be like to have powers that great, and he was quite nervous about it to say the least. 

Harry completed his morning routine, and as usual, his performance was slightly superior to that of the previous day. On the way to work, he managed his full running speed for four and a half miles, compared to the four and a quarter that he'd managed on the return trip the day before. Harry was very pleased with his progress; at this rate, he would be able to run flat-out for the entire twelve-mile journey in about two weeks!

He arrived at the plant and went about his business, occasionally chatting with a friendly co-worker. At the end of the day, Stone called everyone together, saying that he had an announcement to make.

"Alright people," he began, "I've got something very important to tell you, though most of you know already." Harry, the only person who really didn't already know, moved forward, interested. Stone continued:

"I was looking through the employee files last week, and I found some interesting information. It seems that today is Potter's fifteenth birthday, and because of that, I decided that we're gonna throw him a party!"

"What?" Harry stood there in shock for a moment, before he was grabbed by the arms and legs and lifted over the heads of the crowd. The three men holding him began to drag him off to the car they would be taking.

"Hey, guys! Come on, put me down! Please? Hey!" Harry protested. "Guys, please put me down! I've gotta head home. My uncle will kill me if I'm late!"

"Relax, Potter," said Ed, the man who had him by the ankles. "Stone's calling your uncle right now and explaining everything to him. He's going to promise to have you home by 9:30, so we've got about five hours to give you the best damn birthday you've ever had!" he said with a thick accent, shoving Harry into the back seat.  
  


"Besides," he added, smiling mischievously enough to rival Fred and George, "Stone's family's gonna be there, including 'is daughter. She's quite pretty, and she's gonna be _very_ interested in you, 'arry."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"'Arry," said Ed, exasperatedly, "I've never met anyone who was so smart, but still so stupid."

"Who?"

"You! She's gonna be hot for yeh, yeh bloody moron! For cryin' out loud, yer fifteen years old, an' yeh don't even realize!"

"Realize what?"

"THAT THE GIRLS WILL BE DROOLING ALL OVER YOU, DAMMIT!!!" Ed shouted. "How could yeh not know? When was the last time yeh looked in a mirror? Hell, when have you seen a girl?" he asked, ignoring the car's other two occupants, who were chuckling, highly amused by both Ed's annoyance and by the cause of it, namely Harry's cluelessness.

"I dunno, about a month ago, I think. And I haven't seen a girl since I got out of school. By the way, why would Stone's family be there?"

"I don' know. Maybe he just asked 'em te come. We all know he's taken a real liking to you, 'arry. Maybe 'e wants 'is daughter te meet you. Or maybe," he said, smirking once more, "'e wants _you_ to meet _'er_."  He had quickly gotten over the shock of hearing how long ago Harry had looked in the mirror, because his twisted mind had just as quickly thought up some new teasing material.

"If Stone's trying to set me up with his daughter, he's wasting his time," Harry said in a half-annoyed, half-frustrated tone typical of a teenager who has just learned that he was being manipulated.

"An' why would that be, 'arry me boy?" asked one of the other two men.

"Because I'm already _very_ interested in someone else, that's why." Harry answered.

"Really? Who?" They all asked, simultaneously.

"You really expect me to tell you that?" Harry replied.

"Of course we do," Ed answered back. "Why not? I mean, we know yeh have no social life around 'ere, so it's obviously a girl from whatever school yeh go to. There's virtually no chance that any of us know 'er, or will ever even meet 'er, so what's the problem?"

"It's just…the principal of the thing, okay? Just drop it."

Ed and the other passengers backed off the subject, respecting Harry's wishes, and knowing him well enough to know that if he really wanted to keep a secret, it stayed kept. The rest of the short ride passed in silence, except for a brief conversation about where they were going and how long they had been planning the party. Harry was quite surprised to learn that they had been planning to throw a party for him for over a week. 

He let his thoughts wander to Hermione for the last few minutes of the ride. He had realized a little over a week ago that his feelings went far beyond a measly little crush. He loved her. It was just that simple. He loved everything about her: her study habits, the frustrated expression she got when she was confused, her determined attitude, and other things too numerous to mention. The thing he loved most, however, was definitely her smile, and not just her every day smile, it was the kind she only used when she was truly happy. There was absolutely no doubt in his mind that he loved her, and the hope that she might feel the same way about him was a great comfort whenever he felt depressed. His musings were cut short by Ed's announcement that they had arrived. They were at an average-sized pub where Stone and about two-dozen others had already congregated. When the car had been parked, Harry and the others stepped out and entered the pub.

~*~*~*

A few hours later, Harry sat in the passenger seat of Stone's car, headed back to Privet Drive. His head was resting against the window, as he was too tired to sit up straight. "That," he said, sleepily, "was a great party."

"Thanks, Harry," Stone replied.

"I really meant it, Stone. So far this has been the best birthday I can remember. It's definitely the best since my parents died."

Stone remained silent for a few minutes so Harry let himself remember one of the best days of his life.

~*~*~*

Almost immediately after he entered the pub, Harry nearly lost the ability to stand from dozens of congratulatory hits on his back and shoulders. Once he had cleared the small gauntlet created by his colleagues, Stone pulled Harry aside to a group of three people. Harry assumed they were his family. There was a woman who appeared to be in her mid-to-late-thirties, a pretty girl who was probably a few months younger than Harry, and a small boy Harry thought to be about eleven (Hint-hint). The woman was short, a few inches shorter than Harry, and thin, with blue eyes, and auburn hair down to her shoulders. The girl looked like a younger version of her mother, but was about an inch taller. Her hair was longer, and her eyes were brown. The boy had his mother's eyes, but beyond that, he was a small clone of his father. Small was a relative term, however; the boy was actually only a few inches shorter than Harry. Stone gestured to each of them in turn, "Harry, this is my wife, Lauren, and our kids, Kristi and Ben." Greetings were exchanged, and everyone sat down around the pub. 

For the next two hours, the partygoers ate, shot pool, threw darts, chatted, and just had fun. Even though Harry easily beat anyone he went against, he still enjoyed all the games. Several times during the night, he noticed Kristi staring at him in a manner that made him a bit uncomfortable. Ed and a few others were in various states of laughter, having noticed Harry's discomfort, as well as its cause. Some were snickering behind their hands; others were openly howling with laughter. With roughly a half hour before the party would have to end, Stone gathered everyone's attention. "All right, everyone," he began, "as you all know, this is a birthday party, and seeing as it's almost over, I think its time that we give our guest of honor his gifts." 

Harry was shocked for a moment. He hadn't expected them to get him gifts, but then again, he didn't expect the party either. "Harry," Stone said, "the lot of us decided to pool our money and get you only a couple of nice gifts instead of many small trinkets. But before we get to the gifts, I would like to give you my word, that whenever you need a job, I will have one for you. Now, it is time for your gifts."

With that, a large portion of the workers Harry had befriended approached him with their gift. It was an elegantly carved stone chess set. One side was off-white, and its opposing side was blood red. The board was made of oak, and the playing tiles were of the same type of stone as the pieces. It was a thing of beauty, and looked quite expensive. Harry thanked them profusely for the gift. He had actually wanted to get a muggle style chess set for quite some time. He found that muggle chess was more appealing because the game was much more peaceful without the shouted input of every playing piece, or the noise made when a piece was taken.

Next, a small group led by Ed came up to Harry with a rather large box. Harry heard a small voice coming from within, "_Releasss-ssse__ me, foul humanss-sss."_

Even though he now knew what was inside the box, he decided to let the guys make their little speech. Besides, with Ed giving it, it would probably be funny.

"Harry, my boy, do you remember a few weeks ago when a snake got into the locker room, and you got it out?" With a nod from Harry, Ed continued, "When we asked you how you did it, you mentioned that you had a gift with snakes. We thought that since you have a gift, you might as well use it, so we got you this." As he finished, he opened the box revealing a beautiful young snake. It was a little over a foot long, with black, hunter green, and creamy yellow scales. Harry could somehow tell that it was a female, and by her comments, she was extremely irritated at being confined in the box.

"Yeh don' 'ave te worry about 'im bitin' yeh. The guy who sold 'im said that the venom sacks were removed. He eats a couple of grasshoppers every few days, and sheds 'is skin every few months."

"Thanks a lot guys. I really don't know what to say, except that the snake is really a girl."

"How the hell could you possibly tell that?" Ed asked incredulously.

"I'm not sure, just a feeling. Its part of that gift, I guess."

"Anything else you can do with that gift, Harry?" someone asked.

Thinking that it couldn't hurt to show them, Harry took the snake out the box and began speaking to it. Harry had the snake do a little performance before he set her back in the box.

"Were you just hissing at the snake?"

 "Of course I was," Harry replied. "You didn't think it spoke English, did you?"

(A/N: This is not the same kind of Parseltongue as the kind portrayed in the movies, both of which, for the most part, were disappointing. In this story, a person speaking Parsel will just make the same hissing sounds that a snake does: it's less creepy that way.)

Flustered, Ed sputtered, "W—w—well…no, I guess not. Say, Harry, seeing as there is still some time before the party is over, how about we test out that chess set. I was decent at it when I was a lad, but I haven't had a chance to play in ages."

"Sure Ed, sounds like fun," Harry said, eager to get out of the spotlight.

** Two moves later **

"Checkmate," Harry said to a shocked Ed.

"Um, uh, what? How? Wait, that's impossible."

"Tough luck, Ed. Sorry I beat you so quick."

(Yet another A/N: For those of you who play chess and are probably confused about the two moves thing, let me tell you that it _is_ possible to beat someone in just two moves, but only if your opponent makes two _very_ foolish mistakes in his first two moves. How do I know this? I once made those mistakes in a game against my editor, who, as he is doing his job, is probably laughing and reliving his moment of triumph. Glad to have brought some joy to your work, buddy.)

(E/N: I really did laugh at the memory. But I have to admit, he did make some really bad moves.)

(Retaliatory A/N: Shut up.)

As Ed sat and stared at the board, Stone clapped Harry on the back. "How did you get so good, Harry?"

"Well, I play all the time against a friend of mine when I'm at school, and I must have learned _something_ from trying to beat him all the time." 

"You mean your friend is even better than you?" Ed asked in utter disbelief.

"Yeah. Ron's an absolute genius when it comes to chess. I've been trying for four years, and I've not beaten him once."

"Well, Harry," Stone said, clapping him on the shoulder "I think it's time I got you home. Your uncle said to have you back by 9:30, so we really should leave right now."

"Alright. Goodbye everyone. Thanks again for the gifts and party."

~*~*~*

_'Yes_,' Harry thought '_this has been the best birthday that I have ever had. I just hope it stays this good_.'

"Here we are, Harry. Goodnight."

"Night, Stone. I'll see you tomorrow."

Stone drove off as Harry walked up to the front door.

As soon as he entered the house, Uncle Vernon greeted him with a "You're late, boy!" Harry, though tired, knew he had to stay up to get his other gifts. Thinking that perhaps a shower would help, Harry went upstairs to the bathroom. Fifteen minutes later, he walked back downstairs feeling quite awake. He went into the living room where the rest of his 'family' had gathered. Harry's mail was due to arrive in about five minutes. He sat down in one of the armchairs, and joined the Dursleys in watching the clock. It must have been a little slow, because at 9:59, almost twenty owls flew in through the opened window. Aunt Petunia shrieked and Dudley jumped a little bit off the couch. Had he been normal sized, he would have gone at least a foot-and-a-half in the air, but because of his disgustingly porcine bulk, he only managed and inch or two, and upon landing, cracked part of the inside of the sofa.

Harry was shocked as well; he hadn't expected nearly as many owls as there were (He counted at least fifteen.) He knew to expect gifts from Hermione, Sirius, Ron, and Hagrid, as well as a Hogwarts letter, and maybe one from Mrs. Weasley, but that only accounted for six. Who were the others from? 

"Popular, aren't you, boy?" Uncle Vernon asked with disbelief in his tone. His narrow mind could not understand how his 'Good-for nothing nephew' could have so many friends. Harry began getting his presents as he answered, "I wasn't expecting anywhere near this many." He finished relieving each owl of its burden, and quickly excused himself, going up to his room and getting an owl treat for each owl and a large water tray. After their meal and a quick drink, five or six of the owls, who must have been on official business, flew off. Harry decided to start with the largest parcel, which had been carried by three owls, all of which were resting in the branches of a nearby tree, exhausted from their onerous load. 

The note attached to the parcel was very brief. It read:

To our unanimously elected quidditch captain.

_-Gred, Forge, Angelina, Alicia, & Katie_

Harry opened the crate to find a set of quidditch balls with the Gryffindor quidditch captain's armband laid across the quaffle. A separate, equally brief note within the armband read:

 _           Congratulations to my replacement._

_                                                -Wood_

Harry was shocked. He really hadn't expected to be made captain; he was the youngest member of the team. But then, he supposed it made sense. After all, except for himself and probably for whoever the new keeper would be, the entire team would be leaving at the end of this year, so he should have some experience before having to lead a whole new team in his sixth year.

"What's that, boy?" Uncle Vernon asked.

"It's a set of quidditch balls from my team at school. They picked me to be the new captain because the former one finished a year ago." As he said this, Harry picked up another package, which had been carried in by a barn owl with unnatural orange streaks in its tail and wingtips. Inside he found assorted prank items, which he knew were from Fred and George, and a letter explaining that they had been making good use of his donation, and in gratitude, a certificate of ownership of one-third of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, with immunity to all product testing and ten percent of total profit deposited directly to his Gringotts vault. Harry smiled at the thought of the havoc those two would spread with all that money fueling their business.

Harry continued through his gifts. To his great surprise, he had received a present from Fleur Delacour, as well as her younger sister Gabrielle. The two Quarter-Veelas had sent him a crystal sculpture of a Hungarian horntail. It was about a foot long, exquisitely and beautifully detailed, and according to Fleur, unbreakable.

Sirius had sent him a new watch to replace the one that broke during the second task. It had two screens: the first was just a normal clock, but pushing a button on the side revealed that the other was similar to the clock in the Weasleys' kitchen. At the moment, it had only three hands, one for Sirius, one for Lupin, and one for Harry himself, as well as instructions for adding new hands. Harry wondered what the point was in putting a hand on the watch for him? Wouldn't Harry already know where he was anyway? Perhaps he should just save the watch the effort and fix his hand to the "Mortal Peril" position.

Professor Lupin had each sent him a series of three journals, apparently from three separate years at Hogwarts. The diaries had belonged to Harry's mother. In his letter, Lupin explained that of his father's friends, it was he, Remus, whom Lily had been closest to. She had given him her diaries for safekeeping shortly before they had gone into hiding, and Lupin felt that it was time that they were returned to Harry. Harry had nearly cried when he saw them, but didn't. He refused to allow himself to cry in front of the Dursleys, who had stared at all his previous gifts with a mixture of amazement, fear, and disgust, especially the horntail, which shocked them when it moved.

Mrs. Weasley had sent her usual package of a cake, homemade fudge, and meat pies. Ron, together with Ginny, had sent Harry an assortment of his favorite sweets and a small Foe-Glass about the size of a dinner plate. Harry decided to hang the Foe-Glass in his trunk later. Hagrid's gift was a bit of a surprise. In addition to his usual fudge and rock cakes, he had sent Harry a magnificent crossbow, with a stag engraved into one side of the stock, and a lily on the other. In his letter, he offered to teach Harry how to use it when he, Hagrid, returned to Hogwarts in late-September.

The next four, however, were just letters. Each of them bore an unusual seal. The first three were job offers from professional quidditch teams, and the fourth was from the English National Team. All stated that because of his exceptional talent as a seeker, they were willing to give him a position on their team as early as his sixth year at Hogwarts. This shocked Harry so much that he lost control for a moment and bounced around the room, excited, until Vernon bellowed, "What is so bloody exciting, boy?"

"They're job offers!" Harry yelled "Three from professional teams, one from the National team! They say that if I accept, I can get a position next year if I want to! Ha ha! This is great!"

When Harry had finally calmed down, about five minutes later, he noticed the Dursleys were still slack-jawed at the unbelievable (to them) notion that Harry was actually good at anything. Still smiling, Harry picked up an average sized present, one of the last few. It was a book on advanced curses, hexes, jinxes, and protective charms. The note was signed Arabella Figg. Harry remembered that after the third task, Dumbledore had sent Sirius to contact someone by that name, and decided that it must have been her.

Next, Harry picked up an average-sized package that had been delivered by an enormous eagle owl. The ink on the letter was a pale blue that reminded him of Dumbledore's eyes. As he was carting it over to his chair, he couldn't help but notice that it was extremely heavy, even for someone who could lift a hundred pounds as if it was nothing. When he opened it, he was stunned to see a pensive, made of smooth black stone and about the size of a pie tin. It had an intricate series of runes carved into the inner rim, and apart from a flat area at the base, its underside was perfectly curved. Harry also noticed a small scroll of parchment underneath the pensive but decided to read the letter first. 

_Dear Harry,_

_I felt that this Pensieve would be of great assistance in your self-imposed mission to sort out your thoughts. It is a much more recently developed model than the one you used in my office towards the end of last year. This more advanced version can 'project' the memories upward in a 'hologram' of sorts, which I find is much better for the back than spending hours hunched over to watch them. I have enclosed the instructions for using the Pensive. They are written on the smaller of the two scrolls in the parcel._

_Which brings me to your other gift: the information written on the larger scroll.__ It is a full list of your inheritance. Your father's family had a very long history, and, though they preferred not to flaunt it, accumulated an astounding amount of wealth over the centuries. You do not actually take ownership of the various estates until your sixteenth birthday, but any money has been transferred back into your first Gringotts vault, and I have enclosed the key to your second, where items of special sentimental or excessive monetary value are kept. You may visit on your next trip to Diagon Ally, which can be at any time during the last week of your holidays._

_A very happy birthday to you,_

_Albus__ Dumbledore_

Intrigued, Harry unrolled the scroll, and nearly fainted in shock as he saw a four-foot list of properties, locations, and numbers. A quick glance down the list left his eyes nearly popping out of his head and his jaw a few inches above the floor. '_All of that is going to be mine next year?_' Harry thought in utter disbelief.

He was so stunned that he forgot about his relatives' presence in the room with him. He was reminded, however, when Uncle Vernon, who had been shouting at him for at least two minutes, snatched the list from his hands and began reading:

"The Potter Estates," he began, reading the title of the document first, sneering a little at the thought of a 'Wizarding freak' amassing any amount of property. "One castle in Ireland, two in Scotland; two manors in England, one of which is near the coast in Wales, a house in York, a Flat in London, and a cottage just south of Scotland." At this point, Aunt Petunia fainted, and Dudley's jaw dropped, staring wide-eyed at his cousin. Uncle Vernon continued, slowing down with each progressive line as his shock increased: "A castle in Spain with an orange grove, two chateaus in France, both with _very_ lucrative vineyards adjacent to them, villas in the south and north of Italy, castles, manors, villas, and houses all over the rest of Europe…scattered places in Asia, North Africa, and the middle east…two small Greek islands in the Aegean!? And that's just the homes! There's more here..._mines_? Gold mines, silver mines, ruby, sapphire, emerald, diamond mines! How in hell could you possibly own this much, boy?"

"Like the letter said, my family is thousands of years old," Harry replied, in a shocked monotone.

Aunt Petunia, who had just woken up, asked Uncle Vernon if there was anything else.

"Yes, Petunia, it says that all of the boy's property is maintained, worked, and cared for by a total of 878…house-elves? With number 879 expected in October in one of the Scottish castles. There is also a statement for the total value of all this. Boy, what does seven-point-nine billion galleons, fourteen sickles, and twenty-three knuts value in _normal _currency?"

Harry thought for a moment, trying to remember the exchange rates from wizard to muggle money. He had heard Bill mention to Mrs. Weasley at lunch before the third task that the goblins had changed it again, and some customers were unhappy about it. "About ninety-three billion pounds," Harry replied in a dazed tone of voice. There was a small thud and two booming crashes as the three Dursleys fainted simultaneously. (A/N: Come on, picture it in your head. You need a good laugh. I know I do.)

About five minutes later, the Dursleys had been revived, and just as Harry was about to open his Hogwarts letter, which was unusually thick, (hint, hint) another owl flew in with a small package tied to its leg and a note on the other. Deciding to open whatever this owl had brought first, Harry put his still unopened school letter aside and took the small package. Inside he found a deerskin wand holster and a necklace. The necklace was a fine rope with a pewter pendant on it. The pendant was about twice the size of an average muggle coin, with a strange symbol in the center and runes along the edges. Confused, he opened the letter. 

_Potter, _

_I thought you could use a wand holster. It's faster than taking it out of a pocket, so it gives you an edge if you need to defend yourself and have little or no warning. As to the necklace, the amulet was made using a special series of charms and potions so that it will mask your magical signature, enabling you to do magic without the ministry's knowledge. Given what the Skeeter woman wrote about you last month, Fudge, that fool, would likely try to arrest and/or expel you, even if he knew that any magic you did was warranted by self-defense. Remember, Potter: sometimes, you need as much protection from your allies as you do your enemies, because the only difference between them is that the enemies stab you in your front, and allies in your back._

_-Alastor Moody _

_P.S- I am the real one._

_P.P.S- In case you couldn't figure it out; the amulet only works if you are wearing it. Once it is on, only you can remove it._

(A/N: Believe it or not, I wrote the part about someone suggesting he would be expelled even though it was self-defense _before_ OotP came out. Weird coincidence, eh?)

Harry immediately put the necklace on. It glowed for a second or two, adjusting to fit his neck, tight enough so that it couldn't be lifted over his head, but loose enough for him to barely notice it was there, and also to be concealed under his shirt.

Harry was ecstatic about the amulet. In his readings earlier that month, he had learned about that type of talisman, and eagerly sought out the instructions for making one for himself. He was extremely disappointed, however, to discover that it would be impossible for him to make. A single individual simply could not make the amulet without help: the combination of spells and potions necessary for its creation were all immensely complicated, and though he could perform each of them individually, there was no getting around the fact that the two potions, three spells, and the pendant itself had to be brewed, cast, and carved _simultaneously_, and even then, it took thirty-six hours for each portion to be done. The amulet was the same type of magical artifact as a Time-Turner; it could only be made by the combined and synchronized efforts of six different people.

Picking up his school letter once again, he broke the seal and opened it. He was surprised and a little confused when a shiny silver badge with a "P" on it fell out. They made him a prefect? After all the rules he had broken, and his grades, Harry was the last person he would expect as a prefect.

Harry pulled the letter out of the envelope and began reading, eager for an explanation.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_As head of Gryffindor House, I am pleased to inform you that I have selected you to be a prefect. This position is one of both responsibility and honor, and I know that you will take it seriously. You will be responsible for the conduct of the other students when professors are not present and you will be expected to follow all school rules and regulations. This is an important position of leadership. We expect nothing but the best from our prefects. Both of your parents were prefects during their time at Hogwarts and I know that they would have been proud of you. It may interest you to know that your prefect badge is the same one that your father was given when I named him prefect. Miss Granger has your mother's badge._

_As a new school policy, all prefects must return to Hogwarts on August 29 to discuss their responsibilities, duties, and privileges. The Hogwarts Express will depart from platform nine-and-three-quarters at 11:00 sharp on that date._

_A list of your fellow fifth-year prefects and your list of supplies for this year are enclosed._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

_P.S-Congratulations, Harry! You deserve it!_

Placing the letter down, Harry stared at his badge, his father's badge, for a few moments before picking up the prefect list to have a look at it.

**_Gryffindor_**

_H__arry Potter_

_Hermione Granger_

**_Ravenclaw_****__**

_Terry Boot_

_Padma__ Patil_

**_Hufflepuff_****__**

_Ernie Macmillan_

_Susan Bones_

**_Slytherin_****__**

_Draco__ Malfoy_

_Blaise__ Zabini_

Harry read Malfoy's name with disgust, one of the few emotions suitable for anything associated with that spoiled, rodent-faced snob, the others being anger, contempt, and loathing. '_Ferret-boy's daddy buys him a new status symbol!_' Harry thought, bitterly.

Harry then directed his attention to the final package, Hermione's, which had been delivered by Hedwig. Opening the beautifully wrapped gift, he found two books: _Every Possible Method to Accomplish the Animagus Transformation_, by Professors Emeric Switch and Minerva McGonagall, and _Broomstick Making For Creative Quidditch Enthusiasts With Way Too Much Free Time_, by The Greatest Minds of the Broommaking Industry, Who Are Too Numerous to Fit on the Cover of this Book. He laughed for a moment at the ridiculous title of the second book, but he was still quite excited; these were two books he hadn't read yet, and both were on topics that greatly interested him. He put the books down, and eagerly picked up Hermione's letter. 

VERY, VERY, VERY IMPORTANT (A/N: Due to my complete lack of understanding of the female psyche, particularly of those between fourteen and twenty, I will not actually write this letter. However, because its contents are very important to this story, I will provide a summary. She's pissed at him for closing himself off. She is having fun with some of her mother's relatives who are visiting. She confesses that she really likes Harry & has since the end of third year. {Bet you didn't see that one coming, did ya?} She was with Krum to try to make Harry jealous. She broke things off with Krum. She talked to Ron & he accepts it. {How about that? Ron's not a complete ass…yet.} She hopes that even if Harry doesn't feel the same way, they can stay friends. That's about it. Oh yeah, she got him the Animagus book because it covers multiple approaches and he'll find one that works for him. She got him the broomstick book because she thinks it will help him get his mind off things. That is all. I might someday take the time and effort to actually write this letter, but only if I have some great epiphany about the female mind, or a huge burst of inspiration. Also, if any of you feel that you can write a letter of about 300 words that includes all of this information and is written in a believable way, please submit it to me in a review. If it is really good, I will repost this chapter to include it, and I assure you that the letter's author will be acknowledged with my extreme gratitude and respect.)

(A/N: *pants and gasps for breath* Man, that last note was long, wasn't it?)

~*~*~* What follows is the lightly edited work of Rachel A. Prongs~*~*~*

_Dear Harry,_

_I've been writing and re-writing this letter all summer. I hope that with a few words I can express what I am feeling at the moment._

_You _complete_ idiot! How _dare_ you close yourself off for an entire summer! Didn't it even cross your tiny little brain that we - that is your _friends_ - would be concerned about you after what happened? Didn't it occur to you that we might wish to _help_ you? Perhaps I wouldn't have been able to, but you could have at least let me try! That's what's friends are supposed to do!_

_Now, you've had me thinking about you the entire summer, imagining all sorts of horrible depressions you've been going through.  Since you shut us all out (don't even try to say it was Dumbledore's idea, I know it was you), I've been forced to spend my time with my mother's relatives who are visiting, instead of worrying about you. It's actually quite fun being with them; at least they don't shut me out like _some_ people do._

_To answer your question; no, I'm not with Krum. If you had even a bit of intelligence behind those green eyes of yours, you would have noticed that I have feelings for no one but _you_!_

_ I realise that it might be cowardly of me to say this in a letter, but as you've given me no choice, and I just can't wait any longer, so be it: I like you Harry Potter, as a lot more than just a friend, and if you have problems with that, then I don't know what to do._

_I know it is silly, but I do have this tiny little hope that you might have the teeniest bit of mutual feelings. But if you don't, you can just burn this letter and pretend you never read it. I will continue to be your friend anyway. And before you ask, Ron knows that I don't fancy him. I don't think he was too happy when I told him so after he said he liked me, but he seemed to accept it._

_I hope you like your gifts, though. I know that you wanted to spend this summer thinking things over, but take some time off to read the Quidditch book, will you. Also, I hope that you will enjoy _'Every Possible Method to Accomplish the Animagus Transformation'_. It doesn't really cover every approach, but it does explain so many ways to become an Animagus that you're bound to find one that will work if you want to try it. I think that it could be a good idea for you; just look at Sirius; he's been hiding for years in his form. Not that you should do anything illegal, though. Maybe if we got Professor McGonagall's permission, we could start trying to become animagi this year, if you want to._

_I'm looking forward to meeting you again at school, and I hope you've gotten your senses back by then._

_With Love,_

_Hermione_

~*~*Thanks to Rachel A. Prongs for her contribution~*~*_  
  
_

Harry stared at the letter in a state of shock. Then, the corners of his mouth began to twitch. With only that as warning, it was no surprise that all three of the Dursleys nearly suffered heart attacks, for Harry began shouting, laughing, practically bouncing off the walls, and expressing his glee in any way he saw fit. Once the Dursleys had recovered from the shock of Harry screaming for no reason apparent reason except for the letter, Uncle Vernon put a stop to it by bellowing "WHAT ARE YOU SO BLOODY EXCITED ABOUT, BOY?!?!?"

Harry abruptly stopped his celebration, remembering where he was and whom he was with. Quickly, he told Uncle Vernon that it was none of his business. Using a combination of his internal clock and looking at the one on the wall above the Dursleys' fireplace, Harry realized that he had only three minutes left before the anti-owl wards were put up again. He rushed up to his room, grabbed a parchment and quill, and began a hasty response to Hermione's letter, as that was the most important one.

_Dearest Hermione,_

_I have only two minutes to write and send this letter, so I'll try to make them count. The feelings you have towards me are mutual. Yes, that's right, I really like you, too. I'm sorry I can't write much more, but I'll see you on the Hogwarts Express on the twenty-ninth and we can talk more then. Thank you very much for the books; I intend to get a lot of use out of the information in them. Again, I'll see you on the twenty-ninth._

_Can't wait to see you,_

_-Harry_

_P.S. – I truly am sorry that I couldn't make this any longer, but I will somehow make it up to you when I see you again._

With less than twenty seconds left, Harry tied the note to Hedwig's leg and practically threw her out the window. Hedwig righted herself immediately, gave a rather loud and indignant "hoot", and took off. Harry, still somewhat euphoric after reading Hermione's letter, went downstairs to collect his many gifts. On his tenth, and last, trip, Harry carried the chess set balanced atop the massive glass case containing the snake that the guys at work had given him. He placed the chess set carefully onto his desk; he would take it into the trunk when he next entered it. He opened the box with the snake inside, because its frantic hissing of _"Let me out. Let me out. Let me out."_ was driving him absolutely bonkers.

"_Hello_," he hissed to the snake.

_"Hello,"_ the snake hissed back.

_"Ehrm…what isss your name?"___

_"…What issss a name?"_

_"It isss what you are known asss.__ My name isss Harry Potter. A name isss a way for otherssss to know who you are."_

_"In that cassse, I have no name. Will you give me one? I would like to have a name."_

_"Okay. Er…how about Isssisss?"_ ( Isis, as in the Egyptian goddess: Pronounced - Eye-sis.)

_"It sssoundsss niccce.__ It isss decccided. My name isss Isssisss. Thank you, Massster."_

_"Don't call me massster, Isssisss. I am not your massster, but I am your friend, and my friendsss call me Harry."_

_"Very well, Harry."_

_"Goodnight Isssisss. Tomorrow I'll ressstore your venom sssacksss."_

_"You will? I am forever in your debt. Thank you!"_

_"You are very welcome. Now pleassse, I need to go to sssleep."_

After he had said that, Harry lay down on his bed, and for the first time in a month, fell asleep outside his trunk. The last thing he saw before closing his eyes was the clock, which read 11:53, and his now sleeping mind drifted off to another meeting with his ancestors.

(A/N: I hope that the length helps to make up for the ridiculously long wait. I still need ideas for names and spells, but I feel the need to clarify something: when I said I needed names, I meant that I needed English-sounding last names. I can look up first names in a book or something. When I said that I needed ideas for spells, I meant that I needed ideas for what the spells will do, I can come up with a name and incantation on my own. Chapter 5 is nearly finished and should be up in about two weeks. Please review. Questions, comments, and constructive criticism are welcome.)


	5. Chapter 5: Another Meeting with Methos

**Harry Potter and the Heir of Ancients** Written by:  anon Edited by: anon's cousin, who doesn't have an account on FFN 

**Disclaimer: The usual, none of the characters are mine.  JKR is the creator, blah, blah, blah. Anything you don't recognize from canon is mine. Anything you may recognize from another fic is either coincidental, meaning it's from a fic I haven't read, accidental, meaning it's from a fic that I have read, but forgot it came from someone else's work, in which case I apologize, or is something that I thought up, but someone else used in a similar way before I had the chance to post this, if that makes sense (You'll see at least one of those in this chapter). Does anybody even read these things?**

**Even though this story is now officially an A/U, I will continue writing it until I have finished. The real OotP, though not nearly as good as I expected, did give me some ideas. You may notice in near-future chapters that certain elements from OotP have been incorporated into this story, while others have been left out. I won't tell you what they are, though. I will also be slightly modifying everything that I have written after the end of this chapter in order to correspond to information Rowling gave us about general knowledge of the Wizarding World, i.e., Metamorphmagi and the Wizengamut.**

(A/N: I know that this chapter is even more ridiculously late than its most recent predecessor, and though I will not needlessly take up space groveling, I want you all to know that I am more sorry than words can properly describe. The reasons for the delay are numerous, mostly involving school and real life interfering, as they are wont to do, and I'm sure you don't want to read them right now, so my excuses will be placed in this chapter's closing note.  I've kept you waiting for far, far too long as it is, so without further adieu, on with the fic. One more thing, Chapter 4 will probably be re-posted with Hermione's letter some time this weekend.)

Chapter 5: Another Meeting with Methos 

When Harry fell asleep, he instantly found himself in a dream world, as he had exactly one month before. This time, however, he was most definitely not in Egypt. The sky was still a blindingly sunless white, but the ground, instead of sand, was hilly and covered in grass. All in all, it looked like someplace he would find in England or Scotland. 

"Hello again, Harry" a voice said, as its owner stepped up beside Harry. "I hope you are well." 

"Extremely well, Methos," Harry replied, "This has been the best birthday of my life. The only way it could be better was if my friends were here to celebrate it with me."

"And whose fault is that?" queried Methos.

"My own, I know. Oh, well, there's always next year," said Harry. "Where are Merlin and Godric?"

"They couldn't come," Methos replied "but they did give me the gifts they intended to give you.  Do you want them now, or should I give them to you after we have our serious talk?"

"I think I'll open the gifts first.  After all, if this talk gets too boring, at least I'll have some gifts to play with," Harry said, with an amused grin on his face.

"_I_ think that you want to do the gifts first because you're a little too happy over your other gifts to be serious about anything," Methos teased.

"Very funny, old man," Harry shot back. He wasn't sure which annoyed him more: Methos' teasing, or the fact that he was right.

"Well, since it is your birthday, here you are," Methos declared. He waved his hand and four packages appeared: two long and thin, one large and box-shaped, and one very small package placed atop the large one.  "And technically, I'm not old; I'm dead."

Methos picked up the shorter of the two thin gifts. "This one is from Godric," he said as Harry opened it. Inside the box lay an exquisite sword; it was the ideal length, perfectly balanced, feather light, and a work of art. (If you're the type who needs a really good mental picture, just imagine the sword Arwen used in _Lord of the Rings_. And don't go saying it's girly; a weapon is a weapon, they are not gender-specific.)

"It's beautiful." Harry said "But this can't be Gryffindor's sword. I pulled _that_ out of the Sorting Hat at the end of my second year."

"The sword in your hands is Gryffindor's _true_ sword. The one you pulled out of the hat was simply put there for one who was in dire need of it. This sword is made from a magical metal, Harry. It cannot be broken, and the only way to get it into the shape you want is to conjure it that way. It hasn't been enchanted to be light, that's just the way it is; it's incredibly strong, but unbelievably light. The blade will never break, and it will never grow dull, either. "

"It's wonderful," Harry said, slashing at thin air to test the sword. "Thank Godric for me," he said as he put the sword down, waiting for his next gift.

"Of course, Harry. Now, the big one there and the little one on top are from Merlin. Oh! Before I forget, you should know that that sword will burn the hand of anyone who touches it without getting permission from you beforehand."

"Cool, but why did Merlin give me two gifts?"

"I don't know. He always was an overachiever, and perhaps he thought you might enjoy them. Open the smaller one first."

Harry opened the box and pulled out a small vial of clear glass, with an eyedropper for a cap, and filled with a milk-white liquid.

"What is it?"

"A potion, obviously." 

"I can see that. I meant, what does it _do_?"

"It makes your eyes able to see through anything."

"You mean like Moody's magic eye?"

"Moody?  Oh, yes, that paranoid Auror who was supposed to be your defense teacher last year. Yes, it makes your eyes able to see like his, but it also reveals polyjuice users and animagi. 

"How do I use it?" Harry asked, eagerly.

"You put five drops in each eye once a month. After a while, you will be able to see like Moody's magical eye whenever you want to. All you need to do is focus; otherwise you might see some things you, or perhaps others, would rather you not see," Methos continued with a chuckle.

"Great. I'll be sure to start using it as soon as I wake up." 

"Wonderful, Harry. Now come on, open the other," he said, excitedly. 

Harry found that, instead of being wrapped, Merlin's other gift simply had a large piece of cloth draped over it. Drawing the cloth away, Harry was amazed to find a phoenix. It was gold and white in color, and just a little smaller than Fawkes, Professor Dumbledore's phoenix. It was the most beautiful animal he had ever seen in his life. It flew up, landed on his shoulder, and trilled out a long note of phoenix song that made Harry feel warm, safe and…at home in a way even Hogwarts could not.

"What's her name?" Harry asked, knowing somehow that the phoenix was a girl.

"She doesn't have one yet," Methos replied, "It is yours to decide, Harry."

_'What should I call her?'_ Harry thought. Then it hit him: Lily, his mother's name. The way the phoenix's song made him feel was exactly how he had always imagined his mother would make him feel. It just fit.

"I'll call her Lily," he said. Methos seemed surprised, but did not ask for an explanation.

(A/N: You often find in fanfiction that when Harry gets a female phoenix, he names it Lily, but I'm the first that I know of who actually thought of a reason why, so I've put some originality into the "Phoenix Cliché". So there!)

"A fine choice, Harry," he said, picking up the last package and handing it to him. "This last one is from me, obviously."

Harry opened the package, and pulled out…a long stick? No, it was a staff, a mage's wand. It was made of a very hard wood, clean but with a rough look and feel that testified to its great age. It was carved unnaturally straight and had a black crystal at its tip, a little bigger than an egg and as smooth as glass. The crystal was held in place by the carving of a claw of some magical beast. When Harry held the staff, a strange white glow came from the center of the crystal, while the rest stayed pitch black. The staff seemed to fit perfectly into his hand, and was balanced perfectly. Harry was interrupted from his inspection of the staff by Methos, who had been describing it himself:

"…Crete cedar wood, tipped by a black Diamond. It's made to be used only for the most powerful and ancient mage arts. I made it for myself and my heirs. Use it well Harry."

"It's…simply beyond words, Methos. Thank you"

"You're very welcome, Harry. Now, I hate to rush, but we really need to get to more serious matters."

"Such as?"

"Such as what we neglected to tell you during our first meeting."

"Do all powerful wizards speak in half-truths, or is it just the ones I know?" Harry asked, frustratedly, thinking of Dumbledore's affinity for riddles and good-natured secrecy.

"It's just a coincidence. I think…."

"Alright. Just tell me so I can get back to my normal dreams."

"You mean you and what's-her-name snogging?"

"Shut up! Now tell me, please!" 

"But you told me to shut up." 

"Arrgh! I meant stop teasing me."

"Oh, right. Any way, the first thing is how powerful you're really going to become. Let me ask you, what do you know about the Potentis Potion?"

"It was invented in Mid-Roman times and is used to determined how powerful magical people are."

"Good to see you've been putting our library to good use. Now what did I tell you about your power a month ago?"

"That it would be twice as great as yours, Merlin's, and Godric's put together." 

"_That_ is a half-truth. You see, we meant that you would be twice as great according to the Potentis Scale. In terms of actual power, there is a big difference."

"How so?"

"Very few wizards are aware that on the scale, magical strength in literal terms becomes much greater than in the numerical sense. The only ones who do know are those who have bothered to study such Muggle mathematical disciplines as geometry and calculus, and given the way most influential wizards tend to dismiss anything to do with Muggles, the information is considered lunacy the moment it is brought up for discussion, simply because Muggle science was used to prove it.

"I'll let you figure out why on your own, but the best way I can describe the system's flaw is that it takes much more magical power to make a difference to the potion as the power becomes greater. In Potentis terms, you will be eleven times more powerful than Godric, but in terms of actual magical power, you will be just over one hundred times stronger than he was." 

(A/N: If you actually bother to do the math using the magical strength levels that I have already determined, Harry should actually be about 1331 times stronger that Godric, but I thought that that would be overdoing it, even for this fic. Also, to those who say that I'm _already overdoing it as far as power is concerned, there _is_ a good reason for it, but I won't say yet what it is. Besides, this is my story and I'll do whatever I want! *sticks out tongue in childish gesture* Don't worry though, the next stuff is a bit more reasonable…I think.)_

Harry's jaw had, as it had so many times already that night, hit the floor.

"The rate at which you regenerate magic after using it will also greatly improve. This means that you can use more powerful spells without having to rest as often as a normal person. With all the power you'll undoubtedly be using, you need to be able to get it back as quickly as possible."

Harry, who was recovering from his shock, asked if there was anything else.

"Of course there's more! Do you even realize what you'll be capable of with that much power? The reason _you need a staff for only the highest mage arts is that you're strong enough to do anything beneath them without any kind of magical tool. In other words, you will be a master of 'wand-less magic'."_

(A/N: I _had_ to do that. You know I _had_ to do it. But then again, I wanted to do it, so why am I even writing this note? Oh God, I've got a headache.)

"Wow," Harry said.

"I'm not done yet," Methos continued, raising a hand to stop Harry from speaking. "There is still the matter of your animagus forms to discuss." 

"What about my animagus form?" Harry asked. 

"_Forms_, Harry, as in more than one. You have five: three magical creatures and two normal animals."

"Well, what are they?" Harry asked eagerly. (I _really need to buy a thesaurus) _

"Each magical creature is a symbol, one for Merlin, another for Godric, and a third for me. My symbol, and the symbol of our family, is the gryphon. Merlin is a dragon, and Godric's is a phoenix. The two normal animals are an owl and a wolf."

Harry just stood there, overcome by the sense of awe he felt as he contemplated all the powers he would have.

"Don't worry, Harry, there's only one more thing: Mage-Sense. Have you ever heard of it?"

Snapping out of his daze, Harry answered, "Not really. Even in the library in the trunk, the only thing I've seen on Mage-Sense was an obscure reference, where it was mentioned but not explained. I was curious, and looked every where, but I couldn't find anything on it."

"Yes, I know. We purposely left any books that went in-depth on Mage-Sense out of the library."

"What? Why?"

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that, Harry. I'll tell you everything you need to know about it now, though."

"Alright. Will you let me see the books as well, just in case I forget something?"

"Certainly," Methos replied, waving his hand so that a stack of about twenty-five large books appeared. "To keep it simple, Mage-Sense is the ability to see and sense magic."

"What do you mean?"

"Seeing magic means that you can see magical peoples' auras, traces of magic spells that have been cast, magic around objects, and so on. At first, you will only be able to interpret a little of what you see, based on instinct. As time passes, and you observe the residual magic left by your own aura and spells, you will become much more skillful as a Mage-Seer.  Within six weeks or so, you might even be able to perceive magical interactions well enough to improve your spells by altering the casting processes to make them more efficient and attuned to your own magic. 

"When I say that you can sense magic I mean that you will be able to detect the presence of magical people, creatures, and objects if they are close enough. As with seeing magic, the interpretation will be instinctive at first but will improve very quickly. Depending on your level of concentration, you may be able to sense someone or something up to three hundred paces from your location. (About one-fifth of a mile…I think.)

"I would recommend that you direct most of your focus concerning those books toward the ancient Chinese editions. You'll find a number of techniques they invented for utilizing Mage-Sense as a combative skill. Most of them, well, all of them actually, require quite a bit of practice and mental focus, but I have no doubt that you'll be able to do them.

"Oh my! Look at the time! (Wait a minute, where's the clock?)You really have to be going, Harry."

"Oh, um…bye Methos. Say hello and thanks to Merlin and Godric for me."

"I will Harry. Goodbye!"

~*~*~*

Harry awoke slowly, creeping back into consciousness. He rather groggily hobbled to his trunk and entered the seventh chamber. Once inside, he staggered to the bathroom, turned on the faucet for the tub, and jumped in. (A/N: Remember, it's as big as a small swimming pool.)

"AAAEEEIII!!!"

Of course, in his semi-consciousness, he didn't notice that he had only turned on the cold water.

Five minutes later, a still-shivering Harry climbed out of the bath and finished up in the bathroom. After eating a small breakfast, he climbed out of the trunk and left number four. Less than one minute after he began running, he stopped. In front of him was Mrs. Figg's house; it was glowing dimly in shades of pale blue and yellow, even more easily visible than it usually would have been, as it was still dark out. Harry had suspected for a few weeks now that Mrs. Figg was a witch, and the magic he saw in and around her home confirmed it beyond any doubt. (Well, duh!) No, wait, the level of magic within the house was too low for a magically gifted person, but there was enough there for him to deduce that either Mrs. Figg was a Squib with a few magical possessions, or that she was a witch and simply was not home and had departed recently. Harry knew that the only reason that information had come to him was because of his newly manifested abilities as a Mage-Seer, but it still disturbed him that he just suddenly _knew something without having to make any effort to learn it._

Out of curiosity, Harry turned around to look toward Privet Drive. There it was, even from over a street away, he could clearly see a pink and red transparent dome, easily thirty times brighter than Mrs. Figg's home: the wards surrounding the Dursley residence.

He turned once again, and continued towards the plant. Throughout the day, he went about his usual routine, occasionally receiving a belated 'happy birthday' from someone who had not been at the party the night before.

~*~*~*

Two weeks later, Harry was in front of the mirror again. This time, he was not starring in shock at an unrecognizable reflection; he was reviewing the changes his body had undergone in the last fifteen minutes. He had grown about three-and-one-half more inches, his hair had grown another two or so, his voice had gotten much further along in its changing than it had been, and his chest and shoulders had broadened and filled out. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Two days after his birthday, he had begun to drastically increase the amount of physical training he was doing. By spending a great deal of time in the trunk, he had finished all five of his animagus transformations, and intended to master using each of them. He was also through with serious studying, and wanted to spend some time having fun in the fine wilderness areas in his trunk.

While he was mountain climbing the previous night, there had been a rockslide and Harry was seriously hurt. He barely managed to get to the sixth compartment of his trunk, which he had converted into a potions lab. He grabbed the first healing potion that he could get his hands on, and drank it down just before he lost consciousness. He awoke fifteen minutes later, and examined the empty vial to determine what he had drunk. It was an unusual potion which healed injuries by letting them heal on their own, but accelerated the body's functions to make it heal much faster. The effect was about six months worth of ageing in the space of a quarter of an hour.

In an unusual twist, he noticed that his magical strength had increased as well, and he had reached his maximum, two weeks ahead of schedule. He was considerably confounded, though, when he more closely examined his power: it was all there, there was no doubt about that, but a profoundly large amount of it was behind some kind of psychic wall, and unable to be accessed. 

Even more vexing was that power he had already been using was behind the wall as well. The previous morning, he estimated his power to be just under what Merlin was capable of when he was alive. Now, however, he could only utilize a little more than what Godric must have possessed. This matter would require heavy thinking, and lots of it, but not until he had returned to Privet Drive that evening.

After his self-examination had concluded, he moved to compartment number five, which he had made into his broom workshop. He had read, re-read, and memorized the book on broomstick making that Hermione had sent him and was making full use of the knowledge: the best types of wood, the shape it was carved into, and not only the enchantments placed on it, but the order and combination in which they were placed. All played a role in making a broom. Harry finished drawing up plans for the broom he was going to make and began to carve the wood. He estimated that it would be completed within a day of his arrival in Diagon alley.

When Harry went to work that day, the only difficulty was in explaining the sudden and extreme changes in his appearance. He handled it in the fashion that was typically used by the Ministry, however, and as much as he disapproved of it, he had to agree that it worked quite well; he just denied that there was any change and said that it was all their imaginations. Apart from that little problem, everything went normally, and he stopped to get a bite to eat on the way back to Privet Drive. As he ate, he couldn't help but think that even without any contact with his friends or extended family, this had been the best summer ever. (A/N: Uh-oh, he's jinxed himself.)

When he returned to privet drive, however, his opinion changed. For the instant he entered the house, he heard a voice, one he had not heard in just over two years. A voice which filled him with dread, exasperation, frustration, anger, and above all, hatred for its owner, who had used it to insult his parents when he had last heard it. 

Aunt Marge had come to visit.

(A\N: DUN, DUN, DUN!)

(Closing A/N: Still in need of ideas for spell effects.          Sorry again for the…three months and something days wait. It's just that there were complications. I do have a good deal of free time at school, but the problem is that the library computers don't run MSWord, and the computer labs are almost always reserved by classes when I do have time. I recently purchased a laptop, however, which among other things, has enabled me to work on this story in my spare time at school. As it is, I have about 60-90 minutes per day to type up the handwritten stuff, or to write new work, but putting it directly into the computer to save time. I'll probably alternate between typing and writing every other day, so that the story can continue to progress…I have been having a lot of good ideas, lately. I only just started typing Chapter 6, but I have over 5 hours tomorrow, and my beta is coming to visit for a few days, so we should make quite a bit of progress. I also have my little sister working on typing Chapter 7 while I work on 6, so that should help a bit. I'm also sorry that this chapter is relatively short, but I will tell you that the next two make up almost half of the story's total current length, and that's including what I haven't put up yet. I won't bother telling you when the next chapter is coming, because we all know by now that I can't meet a deadline. I'll just tell you that I am working on it, and that I will put status updates in my bio every week or so. Until next time, then, whenever it may be………)

* * *


	6. Chapter 6: Aunt Marge's Visit

Harry Potter and the Heir of Ancients

Written by: anon

Edited by: anon's cousin

Disclaimer: The usual, none of the characters are mine.  JKR is the creator, blah, blah, blah. Anything you don't recognize from canon is mine. Anything you may recognize from another fic is either coincidental, meaning it's from a fic I haven't read, accidental, meaning it's from a fic that I have read, but forgot it came from someone else's work, in which case I apologize, or is something that I thought up, but someone else used in a similar way before I had the chance to post this, if that makes sense. Does anybody even read these things?

(Preliminary A/N: I know, I know. It's been 3 ½  months, give or take a week or so, but if I posted what you are about to read the moment it was written, it would have been up almost two months ago. This chapter was getting so big because of all the new scenes I thought to put in, I had to break it in half. The second half, which has become Chapter 7 because there is so much in it that I consider it a chapter unto itself, is already nearly done, and is at least five pages longer than this already! Barring some sort of disaster, the next update should be in a matter of weeks, not months, I hope. About the author notes, some have complained, but more have complimented, so they stay, but within a chapter or two, they should be decreasing in quantity. That's all the groveling and explaining I can handle for now, so without further excessive delay, the long awaited Chapter 6!)

Re-posted 3/19/2004: sorry about the mistakes. Hopefully, they have been corrected. If not, review and let me know.

Chapter 6: Aunt Marge's Visit (Became strangely insignificant as this chapter developed)

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS _SHE_ DOING HERE?!?" Harry shouted at the elder of the obscenely overweight males.

"BOY," the mustached blimp bellowed back "YOU WILL NOT RAISE YOUR VOICE TO ME, ESPECIALLY IN MY OWN HOME!"

"You haven't answered my question," Harry replied through gritted teeth, trying to calm himself, his tone saturated with barely-suppressed rage. "What. Is. She. Doing. Here?"

Marge chose that moment to speak up, her rather slurred voice indicating that she had been into the brandy again. "Unlike _some_ people, whelp, I am welcome to stay herewhenever I please. And where have you been? Out doing drugs, I expect. Or maybe getting drunk, like your worthless, pathetic parents were when they got themselves killed."

It took every ounce of Harry's hard-learned self-restraint not to retaliate magically. If he had, it would have been far worse than the incident before his third year, when he had inflated her to three times her already porcine size. There were other methods, however, of retaliation than magic…

"I find it quite funny that _you_ are insulting _anyone_ about getting drunk, Marge," he said, in a tone so venomous that it could only be learned from spending years as a student and target of Severus Snape. Marge, her inebriated mind temporarily penetrated, nervously gulped down the rest of her glass, and half of another, before she forgot her uneasiness and continued as though Harry wasn't there:

"So, Vernon, do _you_ know where the little scoundrel was?"

"He was at work, Marge. I convinced an old acquaintance of mine, who is the foreman at a fertilizer plant, to give him a job there. He hauls around great big sacks of dung all day."

"Good. Perfect job for a dimwitted fool like him. But Vernon, why would you even bother getting a job for that lout?"

"We've started charging him rent. I decided that it was finally time to get a little compensation for all our hospitality towards the ungrateful whelp. If he…"

Vernon and Marge's guttural, nauseating, voices became less and less audible as Harry climbed the stairs to his room. Thanks to his extensive library, and its time-manipulating capability, he had, over the course of the last two weeks, discovered and become quite proficient in both Occlumency and Legilimency, both of which had helped him gain an amazing level of control over his emotions, and by extension, his magic. He had his limits though, and if he had to spend a whole week listening to Aunt Marge, he would end up hexing her so badly that the Dursleys would undoubtedly need tweezers to pick up the pieces! He resolved that the best thing he could do for his last week at Privet Drive would be to stay away from the house, and especially Marge, as much as possible. Before he closed his door, however, there was one thing that he needed to say. He knew it was petty, but he needed to get the last word with her, just this once.

"By the way, Marge," he shouted down the stairs, "if you're looking for drugs, you might want to try the large shoe box under your bed; I think Dudley has at least a small sample of just about everything stuffed in there!"

~*~*~*~*~*

Four days later, Harry's plan was working well. He would, as always, wake up and depart for work long before any of the Dursleys had awoken. At the plant, surrounded by friendly faces and personalities, he managed to forget the ill-tempered, drunken, and bloated dog-breeder that was Marge Dursley. His plan was not perfect, however. Marge still accosted him upon his return, which he usually tried to delay until after nine o'clock even when she _wasn't_ there. He had tried returning at an even later hour, but Marge made a point of waiting up so that she could begin insulting him the moment he walked through the doorway. She continually suggested to Vernon that he had been out drinking, doing drugs, spending time with a gang, and any other crimes or dishonorable acts she could think of, which were surprisingly numerous, considering her intelligence, which was not much greater than Dudley's. Dudley had, ironically enough, been inundated with praises and compliments by his mustached aunt, while in reality, he and his gang were guilty of every crime she accused Harry of, and a good few others, as well.

Several times, she had tried to get Ripper (A/N: Yes, the old mutt is still alive, and Ripper still is, too.) to attack him, but a mild playfulness spell wandlessly cast at the last moment resulted in the old dog licking his face.

He found that despite the severe hindrance of his magical abilities, which, to his great consternation, he still could not explain or overcome, he could still perform most simple, common spells wandlessly. It did drain him more than he would have liked, however, so he could not do it all of the time. Overall, he could perform almost any magic within the First-through-Fourth Years' curriculum without a wand, and some of the Fifth Years' work as well.

~*~*~*~*~*

Harry had found a way to avoid Marge for nearly all of his remaining time at Privet Drive, and he was absolutely ecstatic. Stone had invited Harry to come to his home for dinner as a small going away party for Harry, who would be leaving in three days. The dinner was going to be fairly late in the evening, and knowing Stone, he would have something planned for afterwards, which would last at least until midnight. Harry was hoping that it would get too late for him to go back to Privet Drive, and the Stones, hospitable people that they were, would offer to let him stay the night instead of going back to the Dursleys'. That was the best case scenario. If things didn't work out, he would have to go back at such an hour that Marge would either have fallen asleep or passed out in a drunken stupor (the latter was far more likely). 

The dinner, Stone informed him, would be Wednesday of that week. Thursday would be Harry's last day at work before left to Diagon Alley on Friday. He would only be forced to see his relatives for a few minutes when he got back from work on Thursday, and then he would be free of them for ten wonderful months. All Harry had to do was tell Vernon where he was going to be, and he would be good to go.

Harry found Vernon, along with the other seven Dursleys watching what appeared to be the end of a movie on television. (A/N: I counted seven Dursleys on purpose: Petunia is one, Marge counts as two, and Dudley is about four, rounded down of course) Harry waited until the credits began before approaching his uncle.

"Uncle Vernon?"

"What, boy?"

Harry sighed in irritation. "Could you once just _pretend_ that you can be civil to me and call me by my name?"

Vernon purpled, "No, _boy_. Civility is wasted on your kind. Is that what you wanted to ask me? If not, get to the point, I don't want to talk to you longer than necessary."

"Fine, I'll tell you what I came in here to say. Mr. Stone invited me to come to his home for dinner. I was going to tell you that I won't be back tomorrow until very late. Or, if he asks, I may just spend the night at his place. Well, now I've told you, so I can go with a clear conscience." Harry then went up the stairs and into his room before Vernon could say another word.

~*~*~*~*~*

The next morning, Harry left Number Four a bit more weighed down then usual. He had two changes of clothes in a gym bag he had conjured up; one for after work, and the other, hopefully for the next morning.

He arrived at the plant early, as usual, and waited for the other to show up. Once he got started, he went about his work, ignoring the stares he was getting from his fellows at the one-hundred pound line, who were astonished that a fifteen year old could do the work as fast as they could, and seemingly with less effort.

When it was time to depart, Stone and Harry lingered for a few minutes, chatting with a few other people, and then drove off in Stone's car. Fifteen minutes later they arrived at a very nice-looking, average-sized house. It was a dark reddish brown color, with black shutters on the windows. There was a small garden on the side of the house, which Harry could see seemed to extend from the back yard. Harry followed Stone up the short slate walkway to the front door, and into the house. Once inside, Stone announced his presence rather loudly, especially to Harry, who was right next to him and had had very sensitive hearing even _before_ his senses' slight augmentation at the beginning of the summer. The ringing in his ears subsided within a few seconds, but he was still somewhat annoyed at his rather large friend.

Mrs. Stone entered the room from a short hallway to the left, walked up to her husband, gave him a hug and kiss on the cheek in greeting, and then to Harry's great surprise, did the same to him.

"Hello Harry. It's nice to see you again."

"Likewise, Mrs. Stone," Harry replied. He was a little embarrassed about being kissed on the cheek by a woman he had met only once before, even more so because of the fact that only three other women in all of his memory had done so; Hermione, Fleur Delacour, and Mrs. Weasley. He was certain that his mother had kissed him as well, but he couldn't remember that. A few moments later, Harry heard the sound of two people coming down the stairs. He turned towards the sound to see Ben and Kristi, who each greeted their father with a hug, and Harry with a simple "Hello."

"Well," Stone said, clapping his hands together. "Harry and I will go get changed, and then we can get started on our plans for the evening."

"Stone?" Harry began. "You never told me that we were going anywhere tonight. I thought we were just going to be eating here, or something."

"I didn't? Oh, that's right; I never intended to tell you. You'll just have to wait and see, won't you?"

Harry sighed. "Fine. Where's your bathroom?"

"Up the stairs and to the left; just past the messy room. You might also want to take a shower while you're up there, you smell almost as bad as I do," Stone said with a hearty guffaw.

Harry sarcastically followed up with a comment about it not being humanly possible to smell even half as bad as Stone. Stone however countered with the names of several coworkers whose odors were even worse than his own. Harry simply maintained his point that it was not _humanly_ possible, and then went up the stairs, having achieved victory in their battle of words.

Before he even got halfway up, he felt something; a tickle in the back of his mind, which meant that his mage-sense had found something. He hadn't noticed it earlier because he was distracted by the verbal sparring match with Stone, and because his Mage-sense was still too foreign to his mind for him to use it unconsciously _and_ constantly. He would either perceive magic at odd intervals without trying to, or if he made the effort, which was mentally fatiguing, he could 'see' all of the time. Nearly two weeks earlier, he discovered that the ability had also extended to a lesser extent into his sense of smell, which brought about an entirely new dimension to herbology and potion brewing. He turned toward the source of the magic, focused his 'eyes,' and saw the magical person he had perceived; it was Ben. His aura was not extraordinarily powerful, but stronger than average, and a distinctive combination of swirling yellows and greens. Harry was a bit surprised. Why hadn't he seen it at his birthday party? '_Duh, stupid! You couldn't use your mage-sense then.'_

Realizing that he was staring, and not wanting to be caught doing so, Harry hurried up the stairs and toward the bathroom. On the way, he paused outside the messy room, which he assumed to be Ben's and used his (for lack of a better, non-cliché, term) x-ray vision to look through the wall. He saw a trunk and closet filled with magical items and books, and Harry could also faintly hear an owl in the attic, which was emitting a slight magical signature of its own. 

"Well, well," Harry muttered to himself. "Looks like someone is going to Hogwarts this year." (A/N: Alert, Alert. Harry is pointing out the blatantly obvious)

~*~*~*~*~*

About twenty-five minutes later, after having showered and changed, Harry descended into the living room wearing a pair of jeans and a blood-red t-shirt, both of which were comfortably loose, but not baggy enough to encumber his movements.

He sat down in a chair across from a couch where Lauren, Kristi, and Ben were seated and chatted with them for a few minutes until Stone, who had by some miracle managed to clean himself up, joined them. 

They left the house and piled into Stone's car. After a few minutes of driving, Harry realized that he still didn't know where they were headed. "Stone?" he asked.

"Yeah, Harry?"

"You still haven't told me where we are going."

"Of course I haven't. I told you that you'd have to wait and see."

"Come on, I'm dying to know. Where are we going?" Harry pleaded.

Stone grinned mischievously at Harry before he turned his attention back to the road and continued driving. A few minutes later, just when Harry had given up trying to get the information, Stone spoke, "We are going out to dinner, then to a movie, and after that we are going to a football game. Our local team is playing West Ham tonight, and I thought it would be a fun way to spend the evening."

"All that secrecy - to cover up dinner and a movie?" Harry asked incredulously. With a nod from Stone, Harry deemed it official; his boss was nutters, and considering this new insight, Harry felt a lot less safe in the car because it was Stone who was driving.

"Well, yea," Stone continued with enthusiasm. "I figured that with all the time you've been working this summer, you haven't had many chances to just have fun, especially if your uncle is as much of a stick-in-the-mud now as he was when we were at school together."

"You have no idea!" Harry was barely able to get out that one simple phrase before he had completely burst out laughing, and if he weren't already sitting down, or in the cramped back seat of a car, he would have been on the floor laughing. The other four occupants of the vehicle eventually joined in, although with considerably less enthusiasm, as they didn't know Vernon as well as Harry did. Once Harry had nearly recovered, he told them how glad he was to be away from Privet Drive because Vernon's sister Marge was visiting, and she was even worse than her brother.

The moment Marge's name was mentioned, Stone's face took on a greenish tinge, and he shuddered as one would at some horrible thought or memory. This sent Harry into further gales of laughter in which he was absolutely paralyzed from laughing so hard, and was almost certain he had broken at least three ribs.

Harry had managed to recover from his latest episode as they pulled into the restaurant parking lot. The restaurant seemed to be an imitation of a typical American establishment. They were seated in a booth after about ten minutes: Harry and Ben took one side, while Kristi, Stone, and Lauren took the other, with Lauren and Ben being further in, Stone in the middle of his side, and Harry and Kristi in the outermost seats (A/N: Yes, the seating _is_ important…well, sort of).

After about five minutes, a waitress who appeared to be in her early twenties come to their table to give them menus, fresh rolls, and to take their drink orders. After another ten minutes had gone by, during which the five diners had chatted and made their dinner selections, the waitress returned with their drinks and took their order.

While they were waiting for dinner, they chatted pleasantly about normal everyday things such as work, funny things about the Dursleys, Kristi and Ben's friends, and more funny things about the Dursleys. When their food arrived, the conversation continued, although a bit slower due to the fact that no one would speak with food in their mouths. Harry, from habit at the Dursleys, and Ben, Kristi, and Stone, for fear of Lauren, who, despite being the smallest member of her family, had them thoroughly trained and terrified.

Suddenly, Harry felt…something…on his foot. It was moving slowly up his foot, over his ankle, into his pant leg and about halfway up his shin, before backing down and beginning along the same path all over again, occasionally moving to the other side of his leg. Harry tried moving his leg, but the thing, whatever it was, moved with him. He tried again, and again, and again, and each time, the thing followed his movements. Whatever it was, it was making him very uncomfortable. Harry heard someone snickering in front of him and to the left. He glanced surreptitiously toward the sound and saw a table with two men and a woman seated at it. One of the men was facing away from Harry, but the other two were staring at the same spot: right under the table that he and the Stone family were sitting, and more precisely, at his leg.

Quickly, wondering why he hadn't thought to sooner, Harry looked through the table to see what was on his leg. It was Kristi's foot; she had taken off one of her sandals and was rubbing Harry's left leg and her other foot with her own. She was playing footsy with him, or at least she was attempting to. Harry looked at Kristi to see her talking to and facing her mother, but occasionally glancing at him from the corner of her eye and grinning mischievously. Harry was suddenly very nervous, and wanted to get her to stop, but he didn't want to embarrass her in front of her family. How could he do it?

Then something happened which didn't happen too often; Harry panicked. He went ahead with the first idea he had, not caring weather it was a good one or not. He just wanted her to stop, and the first thought which came to his mind was to shock her (mentally, of course).

"So, Ben," Harry blurted out. "Are you looking forward to attending Hogwarts this year?"

_CRASH! CRASH! CRASH!_

Lauren, Ben, and Stone had, in unison, dropped their glasses in surprise, and Kristi's foot, which had been at his ankle for the twentieth or so time, suddenly turned cold, and left his leg. During the brief period of stuttering that followed, Harry was thankful that his last rational decision before asking that question had been to wandlessly cast an anti-eavesdropping charm, which would make anyone around them direct their attention elsewhere, and to ignore and forget anything they heard. He was even more thankful, however, for the absence of Kristi's foot from his leg.

"Wh-…Ha-…Ho-…Wh-What are you talking about, Harry?" Stone finally managed to splutter out.

_'Oh, well,'_ Harry thought, _'might as well just tell them. Ben would've owled home and told them himself within a week anyway, so there's no harm in it.'_

"I, er, wanted to know if Ben was looking forward to going to Hogwarts this year."

"But how do you know about…unless…do you go to Hogwarts, Harry?" Ben asked.

"Yeah, Ben, I do. I'm going into my fifth year there."

"Why didn't you tell us before, eh, Harry?" Stone asked, sounding a little hurt that Harry had neglected to tell him about his being a wizard.

"I couldn't," Harry answered. "Except in special circumstances, it's illegal to tell a Muggle, er, a non-magic person about the wizarding world."

"So what changed?" Lauren asked. "Why can you tell us all of a sudden? And now that I think about it, why didn't you mention this when we met you on your birthday? Oh! Wait, stop! We shouldn't be talking about this here, it's a crowded restaurant; anyone could overhear us and then you would be in big trouble, Harry!"

"Don't worry, it's alright. I cast an anti-eavesdropping spell. No muggle around us can pay attention to what we are saying, and even if there were wizards around who could, all they would hear is us talking about normal, everyday muggle life, so they probably wouldn't pay attention anyway."

"Well, that's certainly a relief," Lauren said, calming down. "But still, how is it that you can tell us now, and not three weeks ago?"

Harry thought for a moment. "Simple," he said, "it's alright for me to talk to you about the magical world because I know that you know about it. I didn't know or even suspect it when we first met, so I had to keep quiet about it."

"How did you know that we knew?" Kristi asked, finally coming into the conversation.

"I…have a few rare magical abilities," he said. He was somewhat embarrassed at the prospect of talking about himself so much, but he continued anyway, reasoning that they, along with much of the wizarding world, would find out all of it eventually, whether he wanted them to or not, and it would probably be better that they hear it from him, so the information would at least be accurate He didn't want to take a chance at Ben's opinions being hopelessly corrupted by the Creevy brothers' disturbing hero-worship. Despite having thought a great deal over the summer about Voldemort's return, he had only just realized that he had not even considered Minister Fudge's reaction to the news, or the actions that he was probably taking, or not taking. He didn't even want to think of what Fudge may have been doing to keep it all quiet. Harry snapped out of his moment of introspection when he realized that one or more of the Stone family had been trying to speak to him for well over a minute.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" Harry asked.

"What kind of rare abilities do you mean, Harry?" Lauren repeated herself.

"Quite a few," Harry said, grinning. "At the end of last term, I bought a copy of _'Powers You Never Knew You Had and What to do With Them Now You've Wised Up'_. There are more earmarked pages than not in there now. In fact, I can't even close the book all the way because all of the folds have hopelessly thickened the upper corners." The family chuckled at his little joke, and he continued, deciding that he would have no choice but to stretch the truth at some points, he didn't want to seem too unusual, after all. "Well, I've been taking a lot of the tests lately, and I found that I have the potential to become an animagus, a wizard who can transform himself into a specific animal at will. It's actually a fairly common ability, (A/N: How else do you think Pettigrew could have been one) six out of every seven wizards or witches, according to the book, but it takes months and maybe even years of training to achieve, and the transformations while training are supposed to be really painful, so not many people go through with it. I'm definitely going to, though; my father was one, and I heard a rumor that my mother may have been, too, so this might help me feel a bit closer to them." He forced himself to ignore the compassionate and pitying look on Lauren's face as he said that. Harry continued:

"I also show all the signs of being a metamorphmagus; someone who can change their physical appearance in any way they choose. That one is pretty rare, so I'll probably have a hard time finding a teacher. The book does explain how to do it a little, but the only things I've been able to do so far are make some subtle changes to my face structure, grow and ungrow my hair and finger and toenails a bit, and change my hair and eye color, and even those are extremely difficult. If I try to alter my body structure at all, it becomes unbelievably painful, but according to the book, it shouldn't. I guess it's just a mental block, or something, because the book says that even if I'm learning it on my own, I should be much further along by now.

"There's also my having the gift of Mage-sense, being able to see and perceive magic in a way that most people can't. It's almost exactly as rare as being a metamorphmagus; in a magical population the size of Britain's, only three or four are born in a generation. That's how I knew about Ben. I didn't when we first met because the ability never manifests until after a person's fifteenth birthday, usually within twenty-four hours after the exact minute of the Mage-seer's birth. Fortunately, most of the knowledge of how to use it is just combining instinct, experience, and imagination, so there's almost no studying involved, unless you want to learn tricks that past Mage-seers invented and wrote about. I've been reading up on them, and I've found quite a few that I'm determined to master."

"What can you see in my magic, Harry?" Ben asked. The rest of the family all leaned in eagerly, obviously curious about what Harry would find. Harry let his visual eyes slide out of focus and extended his magical awareness and eyesight to focus on Ben. He delved his mind deeply into the other boy's aura, searching intently for any unusual talents or strengths, and seeing if he could find any indication of how powerful he would become as he reached adulthood. The four Stones sat for nearly three-and-one-half minutes, watching Harry watch Ben, and waiting for some indication that he had not simply gone to sleep with his eyes open. When Harry finally did open his mouth to speak, they were so surprised that they almost dropped their glasses again.

"You will have a special affinity for transfigurative and defensive magic, but you're going to have a little trouble picking up charms. Herbology won't be one of your strong points either because your magical signature shows a closer relationship towards animals than plants, so you might want to find someone in your year to study with who does well in those classes. Potions, well, you'll probably be about average, but because of the professor, your grades will make you seem much worse; he's very biased against students from outside his house, and there's virtually no chance at you being placed there.

"The patterns in your magical signature suggest that you are a potential animagus, some kind of bird, but I can't be certain yet what species it is; I've read that your animal form becomes more specific as you age and mature, and the exact type of animal cannot be determined until you are about thirteen or fourteen.

"As far as power goes, you are slightly stronger than normal for an eleven-year-old, and I think the difference will increase a bit as you grow up. You won't be extraordinarily powerful, but you will be a fair bit more than average. I don't think you should tell anyone I told you that, you might want to keep that knowledge to yourself. Power will attract enemies to a person far more easily than allies, because if someone doesn't agree with your way of thinking, and doesn't think that they can persuade you to theirs, they will judge you as a threat to their own power. There is always someone, somewhere, who is stronger than you, and if there isn't now, there will be eventually. Never forget that; there are no limits, no 'greatest'."

There was silence for a few moments as the family ruminated upon the end of Harry's little speech. Though he hid it well, it was still obvious to them that Harry was speaking from prior knowledge, and perhaps even experience. Lauren, easily the most insightful and understanding among them, was wondering how a boy so young had come to have such experience. She also wondered if there may have been some reason for Harry having so many strange but wonderful gifts. It had been obvious to her from the moment she met him that Harry was somehow unique, special, even in comparison to other unique people, but she could not see just how. She had never before met a person of Harry's age who could speak in such a serious and melancholy tone. And, for a brief moment, when she looked into his eyes, she saw, probably by accident on his part, the pleasant, cheerful mask he presented to the world slip away, revealing a kind soul that had seen far too much horror in too short a time. She had only ever seen that look in the eyes of one other person: her uncle, her father's much elder brother. Sometimes, when he was telling the children of the family some great story, he would fade off for a few minutes, remembering terrible things he had seen or done in the war. What could this young man, barely more than fifteen, have witnessed, she wondered, that they would give him eyes like that? And there had been something else about his eyes, something so…familiar about them that she could not quite place. (A/N: There, that should partially appease those who say this story is too happy. And don't worry; she's not some mysterious, distant relative. Eugh, I hate it when some new character turns out to be Harry's *father's mother's sister's cousin's best friend's … son's niece's former room-mate* which makes them *_absolutely nothing!_* By the way, the reason Harry is being so talkative does not get explained until the next chapter. Sorry.)

Stone finally broke the silence by asking Harry if there were any other gifts that he had yet to mention.

"Yes. There is one more that I know of. You've actually seen me do it already."

"Do you mean that thing you did on your birthday when you talked to that snake we gave you?"

"Yeah. Except that one's gotten me into a bit of trouble before. You see-"

"Trouble? What kind of trouble?"

"Why would doing that get you into trouble?"

"As I was trying to tell you, a Parselmouth, someone who can speak and understand snake language, is extremely rare. Actually, it's the rarest gift I have. I think only two or three are born, worldwide, per century. The reason it's gotten me into trouble is because most people think that Parselmouths are inherently evil. And before you ask, they think that because most, not all, but most, Parselmouths in history have become dark wizards. I wasn't born a Parselmouth, though. The ability was accidentally given to me by the dark wizard who killed my parents; the same one who gave me this scar," he said, shifting his rather long bangs out of the way so that they could see it.

"Me being a Parselmouth is also one of the reasons that Fudge doesn't believe me about Voldemort's resurrection."

"Fudge?"

"Voldemort?"

"What resurrection? Harry, what are you talking about?"

"Sorry," Harry said, "I thought that some of that might have already been explained to you by whoever delivered Ben's letter and brought you to get his supplies. I might as well just tell you; if I didn't, Ben would find out within a week of getting to Hogwarts and would write home to tell the rest of you. It feels really weird telling you this, but in the Wizarding World I'm…well…sort of…famous."

Upon that last word, Harry was assailed from the front by three incredulous "WHAT?"s from Stone, Lauren, and Kristi, and Ben, who had been sipping his drink, gave the right side of Harry's face a soda shower. Harry blinked for a moment, then, after accepting Ben's apology, drew his wand surreptitiously enough for only the Stone family to see, and cast a scouring charm to remove the sticky beverage.

"A basic cleaning spell," he said, in answer to their questioning stares over what he had just done. "I promise that I will tell you everything, but please don't interrupt unless it's really necessary; some of this is very hard for me to talk about, and I'd like to get through it as quickly as possible. Actually, Ben, it's better for you to find out this way. You won't have to hear it from someone who has heard the story so many times that they'll think you're an idiot for not knowing. Anyway, about twenty-five years ago, there was a wizard who went…bad. That was Voldemort. For ten years, he and his followers killed and tortured muggles, muggle-borns, and anyone else who either opposed them or they just didn't like. They did all of this with relative impunity because the Ministry was in complete disarray just from trying to hide it all from the muggles and most senior officials protecting their own skin at the expense of everyone else's safety. Voldemort and his Death Eaters caused such terror that most people today are still afraid to say his name. Instead of 'Voldemort,' they call him 'You-Know-Who,' 'The Dark Lord,' or 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named'. It's quite stupid, really, fearing a name: it's not like saying it will cause him to appear out of thin air and kill you. But I'm getting off track again. Voldemort wiped out some of the oldest and most influential magical families, at least those that didn't support his actions or join him outright, and was gradually taking over. Hogwarts was one of the only places left that was really safe from him.

"My Mum and Dad went into hiding with me when they found out he was after them. They were betrayed, though, and he found them. He killed my Dad first, then my Mum, and then he tried to kill me. And this is why I'm famous: the curse didn't work. It hit me, and was deflected onto him instead. It didn't kill him, though; it did, however, destroy his body, transfer some of his powers to me, and rob him of most of the rest of them, so most people believed that he did die. In truth, he barely survived. All that was left of him was a shadow, and I became known as 'The-Boy-Who-Lived'." This last part was said with some bitterness. "So that's why I'm famous: defeating Voldemort, and being the only known person to survive the death curse."

"But why didn't it work?" Lauren asked.

"I'd really rather not go into that," Harry replied. "No one is completely sure, or if they are, they're not telling me, and what little I do know is too personal for me to share with anybody; even my closest friends don't know what I've found out about the reasons behind my survival. The story also isn't quite over yet.

"About a week before the last school year ended, a reporter named Rita Skeeter found out I was a Parselmouth, along with a few other tidbits about the private life she obviously feels I'm not entitled to, and wrote an article in _The Daily Prophet_ saying that I was potentially evil and mentally unstable. She learned and wrote that I am a Parselmouth, and that my scar hurts me, sometimes. That night, Voldemort got me away from Hogwarts and used my blood, the blood of an enemy, as a key ingredient in an ancient dark ritual to get his body back. I don't think you could even begin to imagine the kind of pain and terror he inflicted upon me for his own amusement. If not for the peaceful slumber enchantment on my bed and the Occlumency I've been studying, I'd probably never be able to get any sleep at all. I managed to escape, but when I got back to Hogwarts and tried to tell people what had happened, Minister Fudge refused to believe me. Fudge is the Minister of Magic, the head of wizarding government in Britain. He was at Hogwarts that night on business, and he refused to believe my story because he believed Rita's article about me being mentally disturbed. It's also because he's a blustering, narrow-minded, and pompous idiot and can't accept that Voldemort has returned. It's a risk to his office and the power that comes with it, in addition to the hundreds of galleons' worth of bribes he probably takes in every month. He's not capable of handling a war, everyone knows it, and he knows that they know it, so he's just going to ignore or hide the truth until he's either killed, removed from office, or forced to take action and pull his head out of his arse – um…sorry, Mrs. Stone."

The apology was caused by the look on Lauren's face at the last part of Harry's rant. It was a mixture of disapproval and utter fury, and Harry was vaguely reminded of Mrs. Weasley before she went into one of her disciplinary tirades on the twins.

"I'm not angry at you, Harry," she said in a frighteningly enraged tone, "I'm furious at this Fudge person. It sounds to me as if he's more concerned with his own position than in the safety of the public." This had angered her greatly, but also, her rage was caused by having seen yet again that deadened, sorrowful look in Harry's eyes, far more pronounced than it had been previously. Her maternal instincts screamed at her to press him to talk of whatever tragedies he must have witnessed, and to try to sooth his hurt, but she pushed them aside, resolving to ensure that that discussion was private. Harry was being unusually open about his life, and it was obvious that he had left out some of the more gritty details. His determination not to let others see his pain also extended to not telling them about the events that had caused it. She could tell, however, that this uncharacteristic openness of Harry's was a clear indication that he wanted, desperately, to be able to talk to someone about his troubles, even if he could not admit it to himself.

"His excuse is that he doesn't want to start a panic, but yeah, you hit the nail right on the head," Harry replied with a slight chuckle.

"Harry, could you tell me about Hogwarts? What's it like there?" Ben asked a moment later. He obviously wanted to change the subject to something less morbid.

"Oh, you wait 'til you get there, Ben; it's the best place in the world. The food, the secret passageways and moving staircases, the classes and professors, well, most of them, anyway. The whole castle is just fantastic."

"Where will I be staying?" Ben asked.

"When you get off the train at Hogsmeade, you and the other first years will cross the lake in boats. Then, when you get to the castle itself, the deputy headmistress and transfiguration teacher, Professor McGonagall, will lead you into the Great Hall to be sorted into a house. There are four houses: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. You definitely won't be a Slytherin, and you just don't strike me as the type to be a Hufflepuff, so you'll probably end up either in Gryffindor, which is my house, or in Ravenclaw."

"How do they get sorted? And how do you know Ben wouldn't be in Slytherin?" Lauren asked.

"They put on the Sorting Hat: it was enchanted one-thousand years ago by the four founders of Hogwarts to contain part of their minds, so that when they died, there would be a way for the students to be sorted according to the virtues that each of them valued most. And I know that Ben won't be in Slytherin because he's a muggle-born wizard. Most of the students in Slytherin are notoriously bigoted against anyone who isn't of pure-wizard descent. While we're talking about that, I should probably tell you about a word used as a derogatory term for muggle-born witches and wizards. It's extremely rude, and the only reason I'm going to befoul my tongue by saying it is so you know what it is, Ben. You'll never hear it from my mouth except for this reason, got it?"

"Yeah, I understand," Ben said.

"The word is 'mudblood'," Harry said, with a grimace, then took a large bite out of his hamburger, quickly chewing and washing it down with a swig of his soda. "Eugh, even mentioning it puts a bad taste in my mouth. Anyway, Ben, just ignore them when they call you that; anyone ignorant enough to use that slur isn't someone whose opinion is worth hearing. My mother was muggle-born, and as hypocritical as it is, I hope for their sakes that none of the Slytherins find out. If any of them insults her by calling her…that word, I know I won't be able to restrain myself."

"Oh, come on, Harry," Stone said, chuckling. "You? Lose control? You're probably the most even-tempered kid I've ever met. Even when some of the real jerks at work get on your case, you barely show anything more than being seriously annoyed."

"Thanks, Stone, but they were only insulting me, and growing up with the Dursley's kind of made me immune to that. None of them have ever insulted my parents or my friends. The last time Marge visited, she got me so angry by insulting my Mum and Dad that I accidentally made her blow up like a great, fat, tweed-covered balloon. Though, except for the fact that she was floating around the ceiling, it really wasn't that much of a stretch."

After chuckling for a moment, Lauren asked Harry if he had anything else to tell them about Hogwarts.

_'Hm,'_ Harry thought, _'what have I left out? I think I covered all of the important things, didn't I? The Sorting, the four Houses, some of the professors and classes…'_ then it hit him.

"Quidditch," he said, simply.

"Quidgit?" Kristi asked. She seemed to be suddenly concerned that something odd may have been put in Harry's food.

"Not Quidgit, _Quidditch_. It's a wizarding sport; the magical equivalent of football. It's played all over the world, almost everybody follows it. There are seven players on each team and they're all up in the air on broomsticks."

"Are you on the Quidditch team at Hogwarts, Harry?" Kristy eagerly asked, once again interrupting Harry as well as giving him that look which made him very uncomfortable. Apparently, her shock was starting to wear off, and she was resuming her efforts towards flirting with him. (A/N: _If_ her behavior can be construed as flirting. I'm romantically impaired, so I'm not sure, but I guess I've read enough of this stuff to B.S. my way through it without making a _total_ fool of myself.)

"Yes and no," Harry answered. "The school itself doesn't actually have a Quidditch team; each of the four Houses has its own, and they hold an inter-house tournament over the course of the year. There are six games, and the Gryffindor/Slytherin match is almost always the first of the year, usually in the first half of November."

"Why does it take so long to get started?" Ben asked.

"Well, the teams need the time for lots of reasons: choosing a new captain if necessary, getting back into practice, finding and training new players, and a lot of other things as well."

"Are you the Gryffindor captain?" Stone asked, finally rejoining the interrogation. (Oops, I meant conversation)

"Yeah, but only because I'm the only one currently on the team who will still be at Hogwarts after this year. They thought I should get some experience before having to deal with at least five new people next year. By the way, Stone, that movie we're supposed to be seeing, what time is it supposed to start?" He somewhat regretted having so abruptly changed the subject to bring an end to the conversation, but he had felt increasingly uncomfortable at being asked so many questions about himself. After a decade of constant psychological abuse from the Dursley's Harry always wondered how anyone could ever find him so interesting. As hard as he tried, that aspect of his personality, the cowering child under the stairs who believed he was worthless, would always be there, and was often difficult or impossible to ignore.

"Yes, Daniel," Lauren said, "we really should be going. We do have plans for the evening, and we've been terribly rude to just endlessly question Harry about himself like this. We must be embarrassing him terribly," she finished, with a kind, understanding smile to Harry.

"Huh? Oh, right! We really should leave soon, or we'll be late. Where's that waitress with the check?"

"She probably hasn't come anywhere near us because of that charm I put up," Harry said. "I'll take it down, just remember, normal conversation; nothing about Hogwarts or magic." At the Stone family's collective nod, Harry discretely drew his wand from its holster, and cast the counter-charm. Almost immediately, their waitress arrived at the table and asked if there was anything else they needed. Stone thanked her and replied that all they needed was the check and if she could get it as quickly as possible, it would be greatly appreciated. She returned a minute later, and waited while Stone and Lauren quickly examined the cost of the meal, and handed her the required notes, in addition to a generous tip.

Fortunately for their schedule, the cinema was only a short drive away, and during the trip, the family asked Harry a few more questions about Hogwarts: the castle itself, the grounds, teachers, classes, and a little more about Quidditch. As long as he himself was not the main topic of discussion, Harry didn't feel too awkward, so he happily answered all of their questions.

When they arrived, Stone announced that they were going to be seeing an American film called _Speed_ that had recently come out. (A/N: I checked; it came out in 1995. And don't go saying that they would never see it because of the children's ages; parents often take their kids to R or PG13 movies long before they are old enough, and these three are more than mature enough to be trusted by their parents/employer.) None of them got any snacks, as they had already eaten and were quite full. They entered the theater, and took their seats. Harry was directly next to the aisle, Kristi was to his right, and Ben was at hers. Lauren and Stone, in order to leave the children alone, but still be close enough to satisfy their parental protective instincts, sat four or five rows closer to the screen, on the left side of the theater. (A/N: Yet another perfect opportunity for Kristi to make unsuccessful and unwanted advances, and for me to make Harry horribly embarrassed. This amuses me greatly. BWAHAHAHAHA!!! *Must find pills, must find pills.*)

~*~*~*~*~*~End Chapter 6*~*~*~*~*~*~

(Closing A/N: Chapter 6b, A.K.A. Chapter 7, is nearly complete, and should be up in a few weeks. As usual, you have read, so now review with constructive criticism. The Hermione Letter from Chapter 4 has been found, and if I can figure out how to do it, I will put it up in Chapter 4 shortly. Got to get back to work. See you in a few weeks, I hope.)


	7. Chapter 7: Night Out, Next Morning, and ...

Harry Potter and the Heir of Ancients

Written by: anon

Edited by: anon's cousin

Disclaimer: The usual, none of the characters are mine. JKR is the creator, blah, blah, blah. Anything you don't recognize from canon is mine. Anything I may use from any other series, novel, TV show, etc is not owned by me, and done only with the intent to entertain. My only reward is the sense of mental and emotional freedom that I get from writing. Anything you may recognize from another fic is either coincidental, meaning it's from a fic I haven't read, accidental, meaning it's from a fic that I have read, but forgot it came from someone else's work, in which case I apologize, or is something that I thought up, but saw others use in similar ways before I had the chance to post my own version, if that makes sense. Does anybody even read these things?

(Editor's Note: Sorry about how long this took to get finished. It is totally my fault. The author got it to me about 3 weeks ago, but that was my last week of classes, and then I had finals to take, so I didn't have any time to go over this. Hope you enjoy it.)[That was three weeks before _I_ got it back]

(Preliminary A/N: Well, here we are; only took me a little over two months this time. 1/3 of the delay is my editor's fault, as his note explains. 1/3 is mine, because he got it back to me the week before I had _my own_ finals to take. And the last 1/3 is no fault at all, because I was finishing up the chapter. At 36 pages, I'm pretty sure that this is the longest chapter yet! To those who have asked, conflict is coming [but will only be minor stuff for a while], flaws are present [forgot to put those in at first, forgive me]. Regarding the in-chapter author notes, some of you have complained, but more of you have complimented, so they stay. In an effort to compromise with those who do not appreciate my humorous commentary, the notes should be decreasing in quantity within a chapter or two, but there will still be some. Alright? Good! Then let Chapter 7 begin!)

(Prelim A/N 2: Before I forget, THIS IS VERY IMPORTANT! Please amend your memories of chapter…3, I believe it is. Harry has not read every book from every library in his trunk. He still knows all of those languages, because that will be important later, but his knowledge of magic is now roughly on par with Hermione, more so in some areas, less in others. If I have time, I will rewrite that part and repost it some time this summer. Ok, I think that's everything. _Now,_ on with the chapter.)

Chapter 7 (or 6.5): Night Out, Next Morning, and Departure

Almost two hours later, Harry and the Stones exited the cinema. The movie had been exciting and entertaining, but was very unrealistic, and Harry was still discomforted from Kristy attempting several times to either hold his hand, or put her own somewhere on his arm or leg. That, and getting up to go to the loo at least three times, moving certain parts of her body far closer to him than he would have liked as she shuffled past him. He desperately wanted for her to stop, but this was greatly outweighed by his unwillingness to be rude, or hurt her feelings.

As they drew nearer to the football stadium, Harry marveled at its size. It was smaller than the arena for the world cup the year before, but no less impressive. After entering the stadium, they went looking for their seats, but before they found them, Harry detected a fairly strong magical signature nearby. He looked back, in the general direction that the tingle in his mind had indicated, and a few moments later, he spotted his quarry. _'I should have known he'd be here,'_ Harry thought. After excusing himself from the Stones by saying that he had seen a friend and wanted to say hello, he told them he would catch up with them in a few minutes. When they asked how he would find them, he reminded them that the seat numbers were written on the tickets, and if that failed, he could search for Ben's magical signature. He explained that the stadium was just small enough that he would be able to sense Ben as long as both of them were inside it.

Harry turned and began walking toward the familiar being, who, along with three others, obviously his parents and younger sister, were walking towards him. All of them were looking down at their tickets, except for the little girl, who looked to be about seven, and was holding her mother and brother's hands. Harry noticed that she too was magical; not as powerful as her brother, but she was still young yet. After giving them plenty to time to notice him, Harry greeted his friend.

"Hello, Dean."

The boy in question stopped walking, and whipped his head upwards and toward where the sound of his name had originated. His sister and mother, human chain that they were, halted a moment later, jerking him slightly forward before they had stopped completely. Dean looked at Harry, an expression of confused familiarity on his face. It was obvious that he recognized Harry, but couldn't quite figure out who he was. And then, there it was…

_"Harry?"_ The look of shocked recognition on his face was amusing to say the least, and Harry found great difficulty in suppressing a smirk.

"Got it in one. So, how's your summer been?"

Dean replied with a broad smile, "Great. One of the best ever, and it looks like you can say the same thing. I mean, _bloody hell_, Harry, what have you been eating? Ouch! Sorry, Mum." She had slapped him on the back of the head.

"Serves you right," she said, "you know better than to use that kind of language around your sister. Now why don't you introduce us to your friend?"

"Er, right…Mum, Jess, this is Harry Potter, one of my dorm mates. Harry, this is my mum, Audrey, my sister, Jessica, and my dad…hey, where'd he go?" His question was answered moments later as the man who had been walking next to them returned from the direction they had been heading. Apparently, he had not immediately noticed his family's sudden halt, and kept going for a moment.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "Why did you stop?"

"Dean ran into a friend, dear," his wife said. "Stop worrying, we're all fine."

"Dad, this is Harry, one of the guys in my dorm at school. Harry, this is my dad, Donald Thomas."

"It's a pleasure to meet all of you," Harry said.

"Hey, Harry," Dean began, "you never did answer my question. What've you been eating? You look like you grew about eight or nine inches."

"Actually, it was only about six," Harry said smiling. "And I haven't been eating any differently than usual, at least compared to how I eat at school. I guess whatever God is in charge of growth and puberty finally started paying attention to me."

Dean chuckled as he looked Harry up and down, finally stopping to look at his face. "That's an understatement. Hey, what happened to your glasses? I thought you were blind without them."

"A bit of threat-inspired generosity from my uncle got me some contacts, and on my birthday, someone sent me an Ocular-Corrective Potion, so I just don't need them anymore."

"Cool. So, where are you supposed to be seated in this mess? Come to think of it, why are you even here? I didn't think you were a fan, and even if you were, your uncle would never take you."

"I'm not much of a fan, really. It's just that my boss and his family decided to take me out as a going away present. We're all in the seventh row of section H."

"That's right behind where we're supposed to be!" Jess shouted, with childish exuberance. Dean confirmed this after taking a brief glance at his ticket.

"Well, then, perhaps Harry would be kind enough to lead us there, as we are a bit lost," said Mr. Thomas.

Harry proceeded to direct them to their common seating area, simultaneously following both the body of Ben's magical signature, and the trail of residual magic that had been left in his wake. This recent development in Harry's locator ability had his mind buzzing for things it could be used for once back at school. It was good to know that even if someone was out of direct range, as long as he was anywhere they had been in the past hour or so, he would still be able to track them.

They arrived at their seats, and after introductions, they all sat down. Kristi, much to her consternation, and Harry's relief, was wedged between her father and brother. Harry was on Stone's other side, and Lauren was at Ben's. The Thomas family was seated such that Dean was in front of Harry, Jess was to his right, and next to her were her father and mother, who was directly in front of Lauren. The game was not due to start for another ten minutes, so the two mothers engaged themselves in polite conversation about Hogwarts, Mrs. Thomas sharing experience and knowledge to a fellow mother of a muggle-born. The fathers did likewise, and included Ben in the discussion, which quickly changed into an argument over who would win. At least that was what it sounded like; the noise level was growing steadily, making it difficult to hear anything except what was spoken directly to him. Dean helped in this capacity, turning around in his seat.

"I can't get over how much you've changed," he said. "We're going to have to put some serious locking charms on the dorm and the showers to keep the girls from trying to sneak up to see you starkers. You'll be beating them away with your _Firebolt_ this year, there's no doubt about it. Though from the looks of things," he said, glancing at Kristi, who was in turn glancing at Harry, "you've had to get an early start."

"Don't remind me," Harry muttered, annoyed, "she's barely left me alone all night. It's driving me batty. I don't want to offend her, but I just don't like her that way."

"What's up with you?" Dean asked, incredulously. "I would have thought you'd be thrilled that a girl that pretty was practically throwing herself at you! Any bloke would be, so what's…oh."

"'Oh,' what? What are you talking about?"

"You figured it out, didn't you?" Dean said, in a tone that warned of severe teasing.

"Figured _what_ out, Dean?"

"Hermione. You like her. When did you figure it out?"

"What?" Harry shouted, unknowingly attracting the attention of both families. "How did you-? What are you-? Why do you want to know?"

"Just tell me, when did you figure out that you were crushing on her?"

"Just after the hols started. Why?"

"Do you know the exact date?"

"June 31. And I'm not answering any more questions until you tell me why you want to know."

Dean didn't answer. Instead, he turned back around in his seat. He proceeded to reach into his back pocket, and pulled out a large sheet of parchment. On it were three long charts: each one containing lists of numbers, names, and dates, but from the angle and distance, as well as the minute size of the writer's penmanship, Harry was unable to clearly read what was written. Then, his passive magical observation decided to kick in, and he saw a series of charms on the parchment, the most prominent of which prevented the relevant script from being read by those it concerned, making it seem as little more than a blur. This confused Harry, as the spell was at least seventh year NEWT level, which he knew to be far beyond Dean's current abilities.

Dean turned around again, the mysterious parchment between himself and Harry. He appeared to be scanning down the sheet with his finger marking his place. His finger stopped somewhere in the middle, then moved off to his right, Harry's left. "Bollocks," he muttered, harshly, "Dammit, I lost again! And…George wins _again_? How does he do it?"

"Lost what? How does George do what? And what's on that parchment?"

Dean giggled, nervously. He had obviously (conveniently) forgotten that Harry was actually there in his haste to check the parchment list, whatever it was.

"Dean, tell me," Harry asked, in a stern, flat voice, "What. Is. That?" Dean thought the look on Harry's face could make even Snape balk.

"It's a betting sheet!" he cried, looking almost Neville-like in his nervousness. "Except for you, Ron, and Hermione, almost all of the Gryffindors and a few of their friends in other houses have had a bet going on since second year over when you two were going to figure out that you liked each other!"

"What? _Explain_." Harry's face now bore a look of extreme confusion, mingled with outrage.

"Well, it's been obvious since at least second year that you and Hermione liked each other. Some of the sixth and seventh year girls who were there when we started it said you two were made for each other. 'It's so cute!' they said. The, umm, bet is in three parts: when Hermione figures out that she likes you, when you figure out that you like her, and when the two of you finally get together." He had started speaking with more confidence as Harry appeared to be calming down, but was still wary of a sudden change.

"And the charts?"

"The charts are for who gets what days. Each of us paid one Galleon apiece: that's five Sickles to join and twelve to choose three days out of the year on each bet. During the last week of term, the ones who are leaving put their days up for sale at five Sickles each, three for them, two more for the pot. Some of us still only have our original three days, but Fred, George, and one other seventh-year are up to about ten days each."

"And how much is this pool up to?" Harry asked. He supposed it was just morbid curiosity, but he had to know how much his housemates considered his love-life to be worth.

"I don't really know," Dean admitted, "all of the coins are put in three cauldrons in a secret and sealed chamber behind the fireplace in the common room. We all agreed not to count any of them until the winners for each of them was determined, but if I had to guess, I'd say it was up to about 75 Galleons each."

"_WHAT!?!_" Harry shouted. He couldn't believe it. George had just won 75 Galleons because he, Harry, had admitted to liking his best friend. How could a relationship between two teenagers be such an obsession to so many people? "Don't you people have lives of your own?" he asked, incredulously.

"We do; we just find yours more interesting, that's all," Dean said, sheepishly. Because of the surrounding din, neither of the two boys noticed the chuckles, giggles from Jess, and sniggers emanating from their respective families, who had been eavesdropping on the whole conversation. The exception to this quiet laughter was Kristi, who sat silently in her seat, pouting.

"If everyone is involved in this little…bet, why did so many girls ask me to the Yule Ball last Christmas?"

"Well, some of them didn't know, as for those who did…they had all agreed that you had to figure it out completely on your own: you couldn't just try to start a relationship due to a lack of options. They just decided to act like nothing was going on; at least that's what the rest of the guys think."

"Dean, I have just one more question before I throttle you," Harry ground out, "why, pray tell, are you explaining all this to me, and why did you show me that parchment in the first place?"

"I showed you the parchment because I was so eager to check it, I forgot you were there. And the reasons I'm answering all of your questions," he continued, quickly folding up the parchment as he talked, "are that you managed to perfectly imitate Snape's 'scary' look, and because one of the first things they did to the parchments when they enchanted them was to include a directed memory charm to make you, Hermione, or Ron forget ever seeing them if we showed them to you by accident." Harry was stunned. Whoever had cast that spell must have been absolutely brilliant. And he had missed the spell entirely when he had examined it. "Once this thing is fully back in my pocket," Dean said, slipping all but a centimeter into his back pocket, "all you'll remember is a conversation about Quidditch." As he finished, he gave the parchment one final tap, and it vanished from sight.

"So, Harry," Dean asked, "did you hear the rumors about the new racing broom that's coming out in a few days?"

[E/N: So that whole conversation was pointless – I feel like I just wasted ten minutes of my life trying to proofread it. Pounds head against wall]

"No. I haven't been getting any post at all. I asked Dumbledore to put an owl-repelling charm on the Dursley's just before the hols started. He took it down for a bit on my birthday, so I could get my school list and some gifts, but apart from that, nothing."

"Whoever our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor is this year, he definitely is obsessive," Dean commented. Harry agreed: there were no less than half a dozen Defense texts required for the coming term. At least they were almost all by different authors, so there was little chance of the Lockhart Debacle being repeated. But then, with the return of Voldemort, Dumbledore would want to ensure that the students could defend themselves, so he would certainly have hired a thoroughly qualified teacher.

"Excuse me, boys," Mr. Thomas interjected, "but you might want to face forward; the game is about to start." All of the others present, excluding Jess, who didn't quite understand what had happened anyway, had reached an unspoken agreement not to mention anything concerning the boys' conversation, which Harry obviously had completely forgotten: the memory charm had been a complete success. Dean had just gotten settled into his seat when the ball started moving…

* * *

The Stone family and Harry finally arrived back at the house just before midnight. The game had been exciting, and West Ham had won by a narrow margin, much to Dean and Ben's delight and Mr. Stone's disappointment. "Traitor," he had muttered, watching his son cheer for the other team. Jess, apparently, had been much less interested, and had fallen asleep shortly after the second half began. Her mother, joined by Lauren, had carried her off, presumably to wait in their car and talk some more. Ben had fallen asleep himself during the drive home. As Harry watched Stone gently remove Ben from the back seat and carry him up the front walkway to the front door, where Lauren was waiting with the door opened for them, he felt a twinge of sadness at never having had such a moment with his own father.

Stone and Kristi bade Harry good night, and moved slowly up the stairs. Harry found Lauren in the living room, holding a neatly folded pile of cloth.

"I brought you some sheets and blankets," she said, handing him the uppermost pieces and unfolding the one left in her hands, she proceeded to set up the sheets on the sofa. "I'm sorry that we don't have a guest room or a cot that you could use, but don't worry, this couch is very comfortable."

"The couch is _more _than enough. I want to thank you, for this evening, I mean. I honestly can't remember ever having this much fun in the Muggle world before, so, thank you."

"You are very welcome, Harry," she said, looking at him with a slightly sad expression. Suddenly, her eyes took on a look of decision. "Are you tired, Harry?" she asked.

"A little. Why?" he answered.

"There are a few things I would like to talk to you about, if you're willing to stay awake for a few more minutes," she said, in a persuasive, but apprehensive voice.

"All right," Harry replied. "What sorts of things?"

"The parts that you left out in the restaurant: I saw you slip. You're always putting up this…mask to cover your emotions, and –"

"So does almost every teenaged male in existence," Harry interrupted, somewhat defensively.

"- and there were a few moments tonight when I could see through it. I know that you're right to say that most boys your age do the same thing; I had a lot of brothers, both older and younger, and male cousins my age around me growing up, so I know very well what they look like. Yours is definitely a lot more carefully put up, though, and I'm sure that you didn't intend for anyone to see it, but I did. I saw a lot of pain in your eyes, Harry, and I want to know what caused it, because I've seen that look before. My uncle Burton used to get like that sometimes, when he was telling my cousins, siblings, and I war stories. He would be talking, laughing, and entertaining us with so much emotion and energy, and then he would just trail off and get that look in his eyes. Harry, tell me what happened."

Harry sighed, resigned to yet another depressing talk. He knew that if he tried to back out, she would persist in asking him, but the strange thing, that surprised even Harry himself, was, he didn't _want_ to find a way out. He wanted to vent, he had wanted to talk to someone about this all summer, and the fact that it was his own fault that he couldn't made the pressure to speak that much worse. In fact, he did spend a good deal of his time at work either rehearsing in his own mind what he desperately wished to voice to someone who could understand or berating himself at not being able to do so, while going through the simple, repetitive motions which the job required. Here, though, was a woman who, even if she could not completely understand, could be told, and legitimately _wanted_ to know. The fact that her appearance very subtly reminded him of his own mother did not help much, either.

"What do you want to know?" he asked.

"What did you not tell us about the night that…Voldemort?" at Harry's nod, she continued "...was resurrected? How did he even get you away from Hogwarts in the first place, and what did he do to you while you were wherever it was he took you? Come to think of it, where did he take you and not get caught by someone?"

"I don't know the name of the place, but it was the cemetery in the village where his father grew up. He got me there with a portkey, an object enchanted to transport itself along with anyone touching it to a prearranged place if certain conditions are met: a specific time, a word or phrase, you get the idea. In this case, it would take the first person who touched it to its destination."

"How did he know that you would be the one to touch it, though?"

"Hogwarts was hosting a tournament between itself and two foreign schools. He had one of his servants infiltrate the school disguised as our defense teacher in such a way that no one could tell he was a fake. The servant saw to it that I was entered in the tournament as a fourth champion; there were only supposed to be three, one from each school, and the magical goblet that chose them was tricked into choosing me as well. It didn't matter that I was at least three years younger than all of my opponents, or that I was below the age limit, the goblet's choosing constitutes a binding magical contract, so I had no choice but to compete. The Death Eater very subtly helped me through the tournament so that when the last task came, I would be in the lead and be given a head start at getting through this giant hedge maze to get to the Triwizard Cup in the center: whoever got it would receive fifty points, so no matter who got it, they would win. He sabotaged the two foreign champions, and at the end, it was just me and Cedric Diggory, the other Hogwarts champion. We had helped each other get through the first two tasks to balance out the cheating that the heads of the other two schools had done to give their champions unfair advantages. We worked together at the end of the maze to beat an acromantula, a spider the size of a mini van; it had lifted me up and bitten my leg before we were able to stun it, and I sprained my ankle when it dropped me, so I couldn't even stand, let alone get to the cup. Cedric was fine, though and could have gotten it, but he told me to take it instead. He said I deserved it more. I refused and told him that _he _should be the one. We argued for a few minutes, each insisting that the other claim victory. Finally, I had the _genius_ idea that we could both take it at the same time, tie for it, and split the glory and prize money. He helped me to my feet, hobbled me over to the cup, and when we both touched it…"

"It transported both of you to Voldemort," Lauren finished, gasping, realizing with horror what must have happened.

"Yes, and almost as soon as we got there, Voldemort had Wormtail, another one of his servants, and the one who betrayed my parents to him, kill Cedric. I was in so much pain from my scar, I couldn't do anything to stop it: I couldn't shout to warn him, I couldn't move to push him out of the way, nothing. All I could do was listen as Voldemort gave the order, 'Kill the spare!' he said. 'Kill the spare,' it was like Cedric wasn't even human, like he was just a bug or something. Wormtail cast the curse. I heard it coming toward us, but my scar just hurt so much, I couldn't move. And then, his body hitting the ground, the pain spiking in my forehead, and, his face, that dead, wide-eyed, blank look…" Harry trailed off, his throat tightening at the memories and at the difficulty in giving voice to them. He had not consciously thought about that night in some time, forcibly thinking about other things before his birthday, and afterwards, placing them in his pensieve so that he could only recall them if he wished to. The new pensieve didn't remove memories; it copied them, and pushed the copy to the back of the mind until the original was returned. This made remembering difficult, but not impossible. Until he actually _tried_ to remember it, it felt as if it had happened years ago, rather than months.

"What happened afterwards?" Lauren asked, tentatively.

"Wormtail grabbed me and tied me to a tombstone. Then, he dragged over this massive cauldron, large as two bathtubs, and filled with some potion. He unwrapped a bundle of robes that he had been carrying. Voldemort found a way to create a new body for himself, but first, he needed to have a physical form again. He was in the robes. It was…disgusting. If the pain from the scar when Cedric was killed hadn't already caused it, and I wasn't gagged, I would have vomited again. He looked like a cross between a barely-human baby, a red snake, and a lump of raw flesh. Wormtail dropped him into the cauldron, and started the ritual.

"He called for the bone of the father, unknowingly given, and the grave beneath me cracked opened, a cloud of dust floated out into the cauldron, and the potion turned a bright, acid-blue. Then, the willingly given flesh of a servant: he stepped up to the edge of the cauldron, held out one of his hands, and raised a large silver dagger in the other. I closed my eyes just as he swung the knife down" Lauren gasped "and then I heard him screaming, whimpering, and a wet plopping sound, and the potion turned red, I could see it even through my eyelids. I didn't open them again until I felt and heard breathing very close to me. Wormtail had the dagger in his remaining hand, clean, and the…the stump…was wrapped up in his robe sleeve. He then called for the final ingredient, the blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, to resurrect the foe. He stabbed my arm, collected the blood into a vial, and emptied it into the mix. The light, it was as bright a shade of white as a unicorn, not surprising, the original potion probably had a good deal of unicorn blood in it-"

"A unicorn? You mean unicorns really exist?" Lauren asked, not able to resist interrupting.

"Yes, they do. I thought you would have known already from when you got Ben's supplies; their horns, tail hairs, and ground hoofs are sold in at least half of the apothecaries in Diagon Alley. A few of them live in the forest at school. We don't see them much, apart from the occasional Care of Magical Creatures class. The full grown ones are the brightest white you can imagine. They're so…I think the best word is…_pure,_ that it's almost difficult to believe that they even can exist. It makes it that much more tragic because Voldemort must have killed dozens of unicorns to keep himself alive over the years."

Lauren gasped in horror yet again at the thought of the murder of such creatures. She then felt a sudden shame at herself for interrupting, and thus prolonging what was undoubtedly a very painful discussion for Harry. He accepted her apology without question, and at her gentle prodding, resumed the tale:

"Voldemort climbed out of the cauldron in his new body and had Wormtail dress him. He turned to face me; I'll never be able to forget his face," he paused, shuddering. "Then, he started talking about where we were; his father's village, how his muggle father abandoned his witch mother when he found out she was magical, how he grew up in a muggle orphanage because she died giving birth, and how he killed his own father and grandparents as soon as he had graduated from Hogwarts. He summoned all of his followers to him, and when they came, he punished them for never trying to find him, and recounted his attempts to revive himself since his fall from power. He told them about his plan to capture me for my blood because it would make him more powerful than he was when he fell, and how it would negate whatever protection I had against him. He demonstrated by touching my face: normally, doing that would cause us both severe pain, but I guess it only does to me now. He chastised them for ever believing that a child could defeat him, and to prove his point, he cast the _Cruciatus Curse_ on me."

"_Cruciatus_?" Lauren asked.

"It's a torture curse," Harry explained, "it, like the death curse, is one of the three unforgivable curses: using one on a human gets you a life sentence in Azkaban, the wizard's prison. He uses it as a standard punishment for his followers for disappointing him in some way, but he holds back, doesn't want to risk driving them crazy and losing a good sycophant. The sick beauty of it is that the curse doesn't actually cause physical damage; it just tricks the mind into thinking that the body is in terrible pain. The only bodily harm you might suffer is bruising from thrashing around, or muscle pain from the fibers getting torn by convulsions and spasms. With me, he didn't pull any punches, and he held me under it for almost two minutes.

"I think that may have been the first time that I actually, _genuinely_ wished that I were dead. I would have given almost anything to make the pain end. And then, it stopped. I heard the Death Eaters laughing, and Voldemort making another crack about how foolish they were to believe I could have defeated him. Then, he ordered Wormtail to untie me and give back my wand. He forced me to duel with him. He had me under _Cruciatus_ again before I could even think to react. He kept it on for even longer this time. I couldn't think, I didn't know where I was, who I was. There was only pain, and the sounds of the Death Eaters' laughter, almost completely drowned out by my own screams."

He stopped for a moment, elbows on his knees, resting his forehead in his hands and turning his watery eyes to the floor, forcing himself not to cry. Lauren was just beginning to move forward to hug him when he began to speak again:

"When he finally took it off, it was all I could do just to stop myself from shaking. After I had managed to get back up, he asked me whether I wanted him to do it again. I didn't answer. He asked again, and still, I didn't answer. Then, he placed me under the _Imperious Curse_, another of the unforgivables, used to control someone's actions, and ordered me to answer 'no'. I was able to refuse because I had been taught over the course of the year how to fight it, though I was the only one in the class able to do so.

"He threatened to use _Cruciatus_ again, but by some miracle, I dodged it, and hid behind a tombstone. He mocked me again, and I decided to go down fighting. I jumped back out and tried to disarm him at the same time as he cast the death curse. The two spells collided in midair, and _Priori Incantatem_ took effect. That's a rare magical event that occurs when brother wands are used against each other: the cores of our wands are tail feathers from the same phoenix."

Harry finally began to wonder as he spoke why he was speaking so candidly with her. He barely knew this woman, and he was telling her what he had been unwilling to disclose even to his closest friends! He was speaking about what had been some of his most closely guarded secrets as if they meant nothing! What was causing him to be so talkative? He thought and thought as he continued speaking, as if on automatic, about the battle of wills between himself and Voldemort, the shadows of Voldemort's victims: Cedric, the old man, Bertha Jorkins, his father and mother. He was somehow able to describe the anguish seeing their faces had caused him, and then heard himself go onto a brief, one sentence tangent, telling Lauren of how she subtly resembled his mother, and then moved on to his parents' instructions to him, and Cedric's last request. He spoke of his escape, the chaos of his return to Hogwarts, the fake Moody, Crouch's confession, and Fudge's thickheaded denial. He left nothing out.

At some point after he had stopped consciously speaking, he had finally discovered that his Mage-sense, in all its annoyingly sporadic glory, had failed to notice that Lauren, despite being a muggle, did indeed possess a magical gift. It was not unheard of, but extremely rare, and always limited to some power dealing with emotions or some sort of clairvoyant or mental capability. In Lauren's case, the gift was a weak form of empathy, coupled with a projected sense of safety, trust, and honesty. She probably rarely used it, and not consciously when she did. Also, given the subtle workings of the gift's nature, there was little chance that she would ever even realize that she had such a talent, and even then, she would not know why or how.

Because he now knew what was going on, he was able to use Occlumency (after berating himself for not already having a constant mind-shield in place) to shield his mind from her unconscious psychic prodding, and turn his _very_ long narrative into an actual conversation.

"You're a very good listener, you know?" he said. "Just talking to you has made me feel a lot better; it's like a weight being lifted off of me. Do you know the feeling?"

"Yes, I know what you mean. I've experienced it on a few occasions, and had it described to me countless times by people at work."

"Really? What do you do for a living?"

"Daniel didn't tell you? I thought he probably would have mentioned it to you at least once, but I'm a child psychiatrist and grief counselor," she said. (A/N: Bet you didn't see that coming at all, did you?)

Harry felt briefly surprised and hurt that she had not told him before she had begun what was almost undoubtedly an analysis. He got over it quickly, however.

"So, Doctor Stone," he said, teasingly, "what, in your professional opinion, is my main problem?"

It was now Lauren's turn to look surprised, but she recovered and said, in a stereotypical shrink voice, "In, technical terminology, Mr. Potter, you are seriously screwed up."

They managed to keep their faces straight for about five seconds, before having to hurriedly grab pillows to stifle their laughter and not disturb the others sleeping upstairs. A minute later, when they had both managed to get back under control, Lauren resumed speaking:

"Seriously, though, Harry, you do have some problems; you obviously feel guilty about this Cedric's death, and blame yourself for it, despite the fact that it was even more obviously not your fault."

"I know it wasn't my fault," Harry said, "he didn't blame me, and neither did his parents, our teachers, or my friends. If I'd been able to write to them over this summer, I'm sure they would have said two or three times in each letter that it wasn't my fault. I've told myself countless times that I wasn't responsible, that there was no way I could have known about the trap, no way I could have saved him. It doesn't make me feel any less guilty, though."

"I know it doesn't, yet. That will come with time, it always does. You'll just have to wait until you can forgive yourself."

"How do I do that?"

"As I said, you just have to wait, and eventually, gradually, it will happen. I'm wondering, Harry, have you been having any nightmares as a result of this ordeal?"

"No. I was supplied with Dreamless-Sleep Potion every night before returning from Hogwarts, and like I said at dinner, I was given a new bed with an enchantment on it for peaceful slumber. I've also studied Occlumency over the past two months; that's a discipline of magic used to control and protect your mind. It's very useful on nights like tonight, when I don't have any other means of preventing nightmares. It also keeps Voldemort out of my head, which can only be a good thing."

"Harry, you said that I resembled your mother. How so?"

"Your hair, mostly," Harry replied, sleepily. He was beginning to fade out of consciousness, but tried to fight it off for a few more moments. "She had a darker shade of red, but it's still close. I think you might have been about the same height, too, not that that means much. Other than that, it's just really subtle things about your faces that I can't quite describe."

"You probably look a lot like your father, I take it?" she asked, judging from the hair that Harry took more after his father than his mother.

"Up until a couple months ago, I could have passed myself off as his twin." Harry responded, with slight irritation. "Whenever I met someone who knew them, all they could ever say was that I looked almost exactly like he did."

"Almost?"

"Yeah, the only other comment I've ever gotten is that I have my mother's eyes. Lately, though, I think I've started to look more like a mix between my Mum and Dad than a clone of one with the eyes of the other. Among other things, I think I might be getting her nose, if the pictures I have of her are any indication."

"Do you have any with you?"

"Just one," he said, digging his wallet from his pocket and extracting the picture. The photograph was of his parents from when they were only a year or so older than he was now. The only reason he could even legally carry it around with him was because it was a muggle photograph. Written on the back was the caption, _James visiting: Summer, '77_.

His father was hugging his mother from behind, and both were laughing in the direction of the camera. Even in the still shot, Lily's emerald-green eyes appeared to be sparkling with happiness. Looking at it almost always brought a smile to his face.

"One of my parents' friends sent me her old diaries as a birthday present," Harry explained, his every word interlaced with a yawn. "She gave them to him for safekeeping before they went into hiding, and he thought I should have them. I couldn't bring myself to read them, though; it felt like I was violating her privacy. That picture fell out of the inside cover of one of them." He was now having great difficulty keeping his eyes open. He had unconsciously started to slowly turn his body to make lying down easier, and slowly began to sink down toward the pillow.

"What was her maiden name?" Lauren asked. Harry's eyes were closed and he couldn't see her staring at the photo in shocked recognition.

"Evans," Harry answered through yet another yawn, "Lily Evans."

Falling asleep less than a second later, he missed hearing Lauren gasp.

* * *

Harry was woken up at 5:30 that morning by Stone, who appeared almost criminally awake and cheerful, given how tired Harry still felt. He thanked Stone, and removed the blanket which he could not remember having gotten under the previous night. The two shared a small but decent breakfast of toast, tea, and fruit, and as they were about to start cleaning up after themselves, they heard a strange whooshing noise coming from the living room.

They walked over to investigate, and to both of their surprise, saw a magnificent scarlet and gold bird hovering over the couch, a letter held in its beak.

"Fawkes?" Harry said quietly to himself, walking over to the phoenix and offering him his shoulder as a perch. Fawkes took the opportunity, and appeared quite grateful.

"Harry," Stone whispered, nervously, "what _is_ that thing?"

"Oh, he's a phoenix. He belongs to Headmaster Dumbledore. Let me introduce you two. Stone, this is Fawkes; Fawkes, Stone." Fawkes nodded its head once, sharply, and gave a brief trill of phoenix song around the letter, which he still had in his beak. Stone responded by giving a brief, hesitant wave.

"What's that you've got there, Fawkes?" Harry asked, turning his attention to the letter as he and Stone walked back into the kitchen.

Fawkes opened his beak, depositing the envelope on the table, then settled on the back of the chair which Harry had previously occupied, and started preening himself, occasionally pecking at Harry's hair, as Lily and Hedwig often did. Seeing the emerald green ink, Harry immediately knew that it was official school business. He picked it up and was about to break the seal, but at Fawkes' disapproving trill, he quickly read the address, and handed it to Stone.

"It's addressed to your whole family," Harry said, answering Stone's questioning look. "I'd recommend waking them up so you can all read it as soon as possible. It can't be about school supplies, and they wouldn't send another letter, especially with Fawkes, unless it was really important."

Stone nodded in understanding, and hurried upstairs. Judging from the sounds Harry heard, he had awoken Lauren first, then had her wake Kristi while he took Ben. Stone came down the stairs with his family two minutes later, two of them grumbling, but all three instantly awakening at the sight of Fawkes, who had gone back to his preening, while Harry stroked the top of his head in a way he had learned phoenixes thoroughly enjoyed. After Harry had once again explained what, and who Fawkes was, and introduced him to the rest of the family, Stone called their attention to the letter that Fawkes had borne to them.

All five people sat down around the table, Harry returning to the seat which was also doubling as Fawkes' perch. Stone opened the envelope, and began reading aloud:

> _"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_
> 
> _"Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore, Order of Merlin: First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confederation of Wizards _
> 
> _"Dear Stone Family,_
> 
> _"As you are probably unaware, certain difficulties have arisen in the wizarding world of late. These problems have raised issues regarding the safety of witches and wizards who are from non-magical families, such as Benjamin. For that reason, Headmaster Albus Dumbledore has decided that each witch or wizard from non-magical parentage entering their First Year at Hogwarts School will be accompanied to King's Cross Station by a Hogwarts Prefect. This is to better ensure the safety of young Benjamin, as well as to remedy a chronic problem of non-magical families having difficulty in finding platform nine-and-three-quarters without first being shown where it is and how to access it._
> 
> _"The prefect assigned to escort you to the platform is Padma Patil of Ravenclaw House. Miss Patil is a highly intelligent and resourceful young witch, and I am confident that she will perform her duty admirably. Expect Miss Patil to arrive at your place of residence in the mid-to-late evening of 30 August. She will be staying with you for that evening and the next in order to answer any questions you may have regarding the magical world, and will accompany you to King's Cross Station on 1 September. I sincerely hope that Miss Patil's presence will not be an inconvenience to you and remind you that she will be there for your protection._
> 
> _"Sincerely_
> 
> _"Minerva McGonagall_
> 
> _"Deputy Headmistress"_

_'So _that's _why they asked us to come back so early,'_ Harry thought. _'I wonder who I'll get sent to.'_

"Harry!" Stone shouted.

"What?" he jolted. He had been absorbed in his thoughts and had not heard Stone try to get his attention earlier.

"About time you decided to join us. What can you tell us about…" he paused to glance back to the letter, "…Padma Patil?"

"Er, not much," Harry admitted. "Just that she's in Ravenclaw. That's about it."

"You don't know her at all?" Lauren asked.

"No, but I know her twin sister, Parvati. She's one of my best friend's dorm mates. I do remember Parvati once saying that however identical they look, their personalities are completely different. And don't ever tell Padma that I said this, because if it somehow gets back to Parvati, I'll have to start sleeping with one eye open, but her having a completely different personality from Parvati can only be a good thing."

"Why's that?" Ben asked.

"She's a Divination freak. Fanatically believes every word that comes out of that bat, Trelawney's mouth. Before you ask, Divination is a study of fortune-telling. It's an optional course offered to Third Years and higher. It's a complete waste of time, though. Professor Trelawney is one of those rare few to whom the saying 'those who can't do, teach' actually applies. She's had a grand total of _two_ real predictions in her life, one of which I witnessed, both the prediction itself and its coming to pass. The rest of the time, though, she falsely predicts the death of one of her students, trying to sound as authentic as possible. I'm her favorite target for pointing out death omens, but I'd be considered some kind of medical miracle if I'd dropped dead as many times as she's told me I would."

Stone guffawed quite loudly at this, and his laughter only got worse as Harry continued;

"And if the way she acts is funny, it's nothing compared to the way she looks. She's always wearing dresses made of nothing but blue and green sequins, and has glasses that make my old ones look small; they're about as wide and thick as the palm of my hand. The whole effect makes her look like a great, glittering insect. And then, there's her classroom itself. She has a huge fire and a whole basket of incense burning year round. It's hard to stay awake in her class, whether from the fumes or boredom, I don't know, but I think the main reason she keeps the incense going is that she thinks the fumes will help her have a vision, or something like that."

Stone almost fell out of his chair at the mental image of a drugged up dragonfly teaching half-sleeping students how to predict the future.

"Look, Stone, it's really fun talking about my teachers' eccentricities, but if we don't leave now, we'll be late."

"Oh! Right you are, Harry," Stone exclaimed, glancing at the clock.

They bade the rest of the family farewell, left the house, and drove to the plant. On the way there, Harry kept the conversation off of humorous topics, as he had no desire to be killed by Stone having a laughing fit while trying to operate a vehicle.

They arrived at work only slightly late, and the work day went as usual, albeit with farewells being quite frequently directed toward Harry. After receiving one last goodbye from each of his friendlier colleagues, Harry left the plant. Not being in any hurry to return to Privet Drive, Harry didn't run, but opted to walk, even stopping for dinner at a restaurant where the service was notoriously slow. He was quite filthy and smelly from work, and as he was only in shorts and a tee-shirt, he was a bit underdressed by the standards of the establishment. After a quick trip into an empty side-alley and a slew of wandless cleaning charms later, Harry walked into the establishment dressed in a transfigured pair of blue jeans and a loose, black, button-up shirt.

While he was waiting, Harry read from a small muggle novel that he had brought in his bag. He read with fervor that few could match while keeping up the guise of casually flipping the pages. He attracted approving looks at his use of time from a group of elderly women a few tables down. Ironically, these were the same women who had sneered disgustedly at him after his first day at work (it has no relevance, but it happened in Ch 3).

The novel was one of Harry's favorites from the rather large muggle literature section. It was entitled _Dune_ and was by Frank Herbert. Harry had read the book for the first time early into the summer, and had shortly afterward learned that Frank Herbert had been a muggleborn wizard who had decided to become a wiz-archaeologist and wiz-anthropologist, studying ancient magical civilizations. Harry had been shocked to learn that almost all of the _Bene Geserit_ witchcrafts Herbert wrote about in his sagas were actually magical skills developed by a little-known sect of religious wizards and witches known as Vasuds in the southern Sahara and the Sudan during Late-Roman times, but had been lost, save for the historical records and texts, when they had all mysteriously disappeared some time in the eighth century. The prayers were also authentic, but had no magical purpose, save perhaps as a method to focus the mind and steel one's resolve before attempting a dangerous test, such as worm-riding. In reality, the now-extinct worms (they had been hunted to extinction by European and American wizards during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries) were only twenty to thirty feet long, instead of the grossly exaggerated, quarter-mile worms of the entirely fictional desert planet.

Harry had been further shocked a few days after his birthday when reading his texts on Mage-sight. Apparently, the region from which Herbert took the inspiration for his work had been, for no explicable reason, saturated with Mage-seers during those few centuries. It happened on occasion that certain regions in different parts of the world experienced a brief proliferation of a certain magical talent. In that time and place, the gift of Mage-sense had been even more common than animagus potential, which had been high almost constantly throughout wizarding history. Eight, or even nine witches and wizards in ten possessed the skill to sense magic, and developed the ability to use it in early childhood, rather than in their mid-teens, as the rest of the world's Mage-seers did. The predominately magic-sensing population had created numerous skills and disciplines that only Mage-seers could utilize, nearly all of which were discussed in Harry's texts.

He had become proficient in many of the skills, from that culture and others. The trick was almost always concentration, and as Harry had to concentrate to use mage-sense anyway, this was not an issue, just a slight increase of what he was already doing.

One trick, referred to only as "The Voice" was almost obscenely easy to master. It was basically a predecessor to the _Imperius Curse_. It was used by directing small pulses of magic through the vocal chords in combination with a selected tone of voice, which made the intended listener obey commands. Theoretically, it should have been just as hard to fight as the _Imperius_, but far more obvious. The body would obey, but it would be easy to see on their face that the person was struggling not to.

His ability to use the combative techniques would certainly make him a difficult opponent in a duel, and one skill in particular, which he called "darting", as he had been unable to find an adequate translation (The fast, zipping around thing from the sci-fi channel miniseries. If you know what it's _supposed_ to be called, please inform me so that I may correct myself.) which he was fast approaching mastery in, would allow him to face multiple opponents with far greater ease. That was, of course, if he ever managed to become able to utilize it in a combat situation. As it was, he could do it almost every time he tried, when he didn't have any opponents to focus on at the same time.

He had been developing his ability to duel using Dueling Spheres, an invention from ancient Atlantis that the warriors used before they destroyed themselves thirty-eight centuries ago in a massive civil war, taking the island with them. The floating orbs were the perfect dueling partners; they were always ready, never gave up until he was ready, and were only slightly more powerful than he was, so he couldn't rely on brute magical force to be victorious. They were made by soaking a bronze sphere in a series of potions, then siphoning the creator's own magic into them. The balls could only accept slightly more power than the one who created them could wield, so as to push them to improve their skills. Once the magic had been put in them, they were submerged in one final potion to make them start generating magic on their own, so the owner would not have to re-charge them. Harry had been frightened by some of the possibilities his imagination conjured up when he had first read of these orbs. What if some dark wizard decided to make a huge number of them, and used them as an army instead of recruiting followers? His fears had been allayed barely a foot later when the scroll explained that one of the potions used in making the orbs ensured that they could only attack their creators, and without that potion, they would be totally inert, incapable of harming even a housefly, except by dropping one of them on it.

The spheres, when activated, began floating around him about ten feet away, spinning in a circle with Harry at the center, and gave him three full rotations' warning before they began their attack, moving freely and firing off spells with lethal accuracy, even occasionally throwing themselves at Harry in a manner that reminded Harry of small bludgers. This forced Harry to improve his ability to counter spells, as well as dodge attacks both magical and physical in nature.

Harry had a total of five of these spheres, and faced one or more of them at least twice a day. He had sufficient skill now that he could take one on with little difficulty, two at once presented a challenge, and occasionally, on very good days, he could overcome three. When he tried to face four at once however, he never lasted more than a minute or so, and he hadn't even tried to fight all five yet. He estimated that once he found a way to use the Vasuds' techniques, he would need to make a few more spheres, just to have a decent challenge. He realized, however, that he would still need to practice dueling without those skills, as he might not always be able to use them in a duel.

Harry's combative musings were cut short by the waitress arriving with his requested meal. Harry thanked her and began eating. He took his time, magically reheating the succulent meal when it grew too cool for his tastes. After he had finally finished and paid, generously tipping the kind waitress, Harry resumed his drawn-out walk through downtown Little Winging, making his way towards Privet Drive. Perhaps as a result of his concentration being elsewhere, or even sheer obliviousness, Harry did not notice the stares he attracted from girls as he passed.

Harry finally arrived at Number Four just after eleven o'clock. He entered stealthily, as was his custom, and in similar fashion, climbed the stairs to his room. He had already packed most of his possessions before leaving the previous day, and finished the job silently, leaving out only what clothing he would need the next day, and placing his now shrunken trunk in one of the front pockets. He had only to shower and dress the next morning, and he would be good to go.

He would be taking muggle transportation to London, as it was harder for magical people to trace, and he didn't want to call attention to himself by using the Knight Bus. He couldn't apparate or use a portkey outside of his trunk, because not even Moody's amulet could disguise apparition, and portkeys had to be registered and approved by the Department of Magical Transportation to be legally used. He didn't need any more enemies in the Ministry; the Minister himself was bad enough. Despite being about as physically and magically threatening as an insect, with a brain to match, his political power would doubtless be, at the very least, a severe annoyance. He had no desire to be accosted by a slew of Ministry wizards within five minutes of his arrival. Darting, while not detectable by the Ministry, was no good, as his movements would still be visible to human eyes. He supposed he could have flown in one of his animagus forms, but this was overruled by his desire to keep the fact that he was already an animagus, not just a potential, a secret for as long as possible. With certain exceptions, no one would know until Professor McGonagall's animagi unit in early November. (A/N: You know I _have_ to do this one.)

The only other magical possibility that would have been available to him was using his broom and invisibility cloak, but that, sadly, was impossible. Harry had literally dissected his Firebolt to get ideas for the broom he was making for himself with Hermione's book on broom-making. The Firebolt was currently in hundreds of pieces on a workbench in a cleared out area of his library; even the individual twigs were separated. His own broom, custom made for himself, was nearly finished, but could not be safely flown yet, and it would take too much time to re-assemble his Firebolt. This left muggle transport as his only real option.

Harry thought to himself that it wouldn't be that bad. The ride would be quiet and peaceful, and he wouldn't draw unnecessary attention to himself. He had planned to spend one of his four remaining days before returning to Hogwarts in muggle London, anyway; to take in the sights and many other experiences that the Dursley's had denied him exposure to as a child.

Before he left, however, there was one final thing he had to do. He wanted to send the Stones a gift to thank them for their hospitality, and to thank Lauren for proving the truth behind the old saying "pain shared is pain halved". For the gift, he had impulsively chosen one of the finer sets of goblets from his trunk. The cups were the size and shape of a regular wineglass, but that was where the similarities ended. Each one was carved from an impossibly large (By muggle standards. These were mined using magic.) ruby; eggshell thin, and enchanted to be unbreakable. On the outside of the goblets were thin bands of gold, laid out in a swirling pattern that formed a cage around the ruby. The effect was that the cups appeared to be made from a transparent red-and-gold marble. The goblets were made even more beautiful by the slight glow they gave off, caused by a pea-sized ball of dim magical light embedded within the gem at the junction of the stems and the cups.

He planned to have Lily deliver the package in the pre-dawn hours of the next morning, along with a note conveying his thanks to the family, and Lauren especially, though he felt the just-in-case need to remind her that confidentiality between doctors and patients applied even towards the doctors' family members. Lily would then transport herself directly into the living area of his trunk to do…whatever it was she did when Harry wasn't around.

Six Hours Later

It was a still tired Harry who entered the _Leaky Cauldron_ at 4:30 in the morning. He had changed his mind and decided to forego sleep to leave the Dursley residence as early as possible, which meant less than an hour after the day he was allowed to leave began. He had walked to an arbitrary place on the Main Street of Little Winging, found a telephone, and called for a muggle taxi. By the time it arrived, the time was almost two, and with the trip only taking a little over two hours, there was no point in trying to get any sleep during the journey. He had had the driver stop fairly close to the _Cauldron_, and walked the rest of the way, making sure the man was out of sight before stepping into the pub.

He was sure that Tom would be able to get him a room, and a bed, even at that early hour. He faintly wondered if the man ever slept at all, he had always seen him wide awake and ready to serve his customers.

Harry had decided to walk into the pub undisguised. It would be unnecessary to hide himself at the moment, and he trusted Tom to remember from his stay two summers before that he would not appreciate his presence being loudly announced. Even if Tom did forget and shouted his name for the entire bar to hear, who in their right mind would be awake at this hour? There was also the possibility that Tom simply would not recognize Harry. He honestly doubted that many people would; after all, he had changed substantially over the past two months, and Tom had not seen him in almost two years.

At the beginning of the summer, Harry had only been about five feet tall, give or take an inch or so, and had a very wiry frame. He hadn't been a weakling, but he lacked any visible musculature. His hair was always out of control, and he had those horrible, thick glasses. (A/N: Is this really necessary? We all know what Harry looked like, unless you've never read the real HP books, in which case, you have no business reading HP fanfiction. Physical description of HP as of end of GoF: Deemed Unnecessary. Skipping.)

Over the summer, his growth spurt, coupled with the effects of the healing potion he had consumed two weeks earlier had put his new height at just barely over five-foot, six. By his estimation, when he did eventually stop growing, he would probably not be much taller than five-foot, ten. It wasn't exactly short, but it was nowhere near the heights of his father, Sirius, Professor Dumbledore, and over half of the Weasley males. He was slightly disappointed, but Harry figured that not even the combined forces of magic and puberty could completely cancel out ten years of malnutrition and mistreatment.

(A/N: Sorry to break in, yet again, but this is something I've wanted to say for a long time. I absolutely _hate_ those fics in which Harry grows to 6'3" over _one_ summer. I mean, he was short as a fourteen-year-old. That puts him at about 5', give or take an inch or two, according to the few medical texts I have seen, at least. By that logic, he'd have to grow 12 to 16 inches in two months. This is not humanly possible, unless he suddenly contracted gigantism. Also, there is the fact that 6'3" or greater is a rare height for _any_ male, and at fifteen, it is almost unheard of. I know we all want Harry to grow and no longer be a midget, but _BE REALISTIC ABOUT IT_, or at least explain the growth in a way that makes some kind of sense!!! So ends my rant, on with the fic. I think I may have forgotten my meds…yet again)

Harry's face had changed somewhat as he matured and he no longer looked exactly like his father. His facial features now more closely resembled those of his mother. He had Lily's cheekbones, nose, and as always, her eyes. James' features were more evident in his high forehead, his head's overall shape, and his hair color. Harry's mouth and eyebrows were a mixture of those of both of his parents. His ears' origins were a mystery, as none of the photos ever displayed enough of them to get a good look.

Harry's frame had definitely filled out, his chest and shoulders becoming broader, and he now had a lean, muscular build. His intense daily workouts at the factory had definitely done wonders. His eyes, he had noticed a few days earlier, were an even more vivid green than they used to be. Whether it was because they were no longer obscured by his glasses, a side-effect of his increased magical powers, or the advent of his mage-sense, Harry didn't know, though he suspected that it was some combination of the three. His hair, as a result of the eight months' worth of growing he had had from the summer and the potion, now reached to just below his shoulders. He kept it tied back most of the time, except for a few of the shorter, more stubborn locks that fell into his face and annoyed him greatly. It was still a little unruly, but as Methos had predicted, the added length made it much easier to manipulate. Harry disagreed, however, with his ancestors' belief that the look would suit him. Perhaps it was just because of the unfamiliarity, but he thought that it looked wrong, somehow. He decided that when the opportunity arose, and he wasn't dead tired, he would put his admittedly crude skills as a metamorph through their paces to find some way to control his hair, but keep it at a length he liked.

When Harry entered the tavern, he saw that the only remaining customers were a quartet of wizards in their early-twenties, all of whom were unconscious and slumped over their table. He spotted Tom, straightening up the chairs in the back, and looking as though he had just woken up, if, in fact, he had slept at all. He was at present facing away from Harry, and did not seem to have heard him come in. Harry walked up said hello.

At his greeting, Tom jumped, startled. He turned around, an expression of indignant surprise upon his face. "Don't you know better than to sneak up on an old man like that?" Tom whispered, harshly. "I could have had a heart attack! Why I should-… Mr. Potter? It that you?"

"Yes, Tom. I'm sorry for startling you. I wanted to ask you if you had an extra room I could use until the-"

"First of September. Yes, of course, Mr. Potter. Room eleven's free again. Same one you stayed in two years ago, wasn't it?"

"Yes, but I actually only need a room until the twenty-ninth. I need to go back a few days early. Listen, Tom, could we please continue this conversation in the afternoon? I haven't slept, and I would very much like to get at least a little before lunchtime."

"Of course, Mr. Potter, of course. Here is your key. I trust you remember the way?"

"Yes. Thank you, Tom. By the way, it would mean a great deal to me if no one knew I was here. I'll give you double the price of the room if you let your records show that room eleven was occupied by…er…Scott Griffin," he said, randomly mixing a first and last name of two of his muggle colleagues.

"That will not be a problem, Mr. … Griffin. And the extra fee will not be necessary."

Harry thanked Tom once again, informed him that he would appear differently when he was next seen and would make sure that Tom knew who he really was, then trudged up the stairs to his room. Unsurprisingly, everything was exactly the same. He took a moment to change out of his clothes, leaving his tee-shirt and boxers on. He was asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

End Chapter 7

(Closing A/N: Holy hell, this thing was long! I hope you enjoyed it. Chapter 8 is still in progress, but work is being done.)


	8. Chapter 8: Four Days in the Alley

Harry Potter and the Heir of Ancients

Written by: anon

Edited by: anon's cousin

Disclaimer: The usual, none of the characters are mine. JKR is the creator, blah, blah, blah. Anything you don't recognize from canon is mine. Anything I may use from any other series, novel, TV show, etc is not owned by me, and done only with the intent to entertain. My only reward is the sense of mental and emotional freedom that I get from writing. Anything you may recognize from another fic is either coincidental, meaning it's from a fic I haven't read, accidental, meaning it's from a fic that I have read, but forgot it came from someone else's work, in which case I apologize, or is something that I thought up, but saw others use in similar ways before I had the chance to post my own version, if that makes sense. Does anybody even read these things?

(Preliminary A/N: Well, here we are once again. At seven months, seven days, this is the longest delay yet. To begin, I will briefly summarize the delay to properly assign blame. Months 1-2; no one. My sister's computer caught a virus, and the nearly completed file, along with a few hundred others, was corrupted, and had to be redone. Months 2-4.5; me. My summer session of calculus took up a lot of my time, and then there was the regular fall session, which as I found out last week, put a bullet-hole in my GPA. Months 4.5-7; my editor. He had the same problems at school that I did, though he came out much less scathed. Months 7-7.25; me. This past week has just been the final polishing and nit-picking. And so, here it is, my 33 page New Year's present to you all, the long-awaited literally Chapter 8! Once again, to those who have asked, conflict is coming but will only be minor stuff for a while, flaws are present forgot to put those in at first, forgive me. And regarding the in-chapter author notes, some of you have complained, but more of you have complimented, so they stay. In an effort to compromise with those who do not appreciate my humorous commentary, the notes should be decreasing in quantity, but there will still be some. Alright? Good! Then let Chapter 8 begin! Finally!)

(Editor's Note: Sorry about how long this took to get finished. It is totally my fault. The author got it to me in October, but RL got in the way. Now that my semester is over, I have the time to make sure this works. Hope you enjoy it.)

Chapter Eight: Four Days in the Alley

After waking up at eight o'clock, Harry entered the living area of his trunk and sat on one of the couches to contemplate how he would resolve the issue of his hair's length. He knew that his ability as a metamorphmagus would be necessary, but that brought up another problem: as he had told the Stone family two days earlier, he still wasn't very good at it. As a shortcut, he used one of the knives mounted on the wall to hack most of it off. He then focused on wanting his hair the way it normally was when he was younger. This task proved to be rather easy, as he had done it unconsciously during his childhood after the innumerable times the Dursleys had sent him to the barber's.

He suddenly had an idea; he would create at least a semblance of order by shortening certain areas enough that the untidiness would be barely noticeable. He began concentrating on individual sections of his scalp, and slowly, exhaustively, he drew his hair back into his head until it was short enough to appear normal.

He continued this process on the rest of his head until he was satisfied. He kept the top a little longer than the rest and his fringe as well, so as to keep his scar slightly obscured. All in all, he thought it was a pretty good look for him, and he hoped Hermione would agree. After getting the approval of the Mermaid Mural, he proceeded to shower and get ready for the day.

After getting dressed, Harry decided to head downstairs. Just before reaching the door of his room, he remembered that he had intended to subtly alter his appearance so that he would not be recognized. He sat at the foot of his bed, concentrating on dark brown hair and blue eyes. Even if he could, he would not need to change the overall shape of his face, as it had changed quite enough on its own over the summer.

His scar was another matter, though: when he tried to make it disappear, he felt a sharp burst of pain that died away as quickly as it had come, and the scar re-appeared, a brighter, angrier shade of red than it had been. A minute later, when the scar was back to its normal coloring, he made another attempt. This time, he tried moving the scar to another part of his body, in this case, his right shoulder. It was disturbing, but oddly fascinating to see his scar crawling along his skin like some demented insect, but at least it stayed put, though it would probably go back to his forehead on its own within a few hours. Satisfied that he was adequately disguised, he went down to the ground floor of the Leaky Cauldron for some food.

oOoOo

After a delectable breakfast of eggs, bacon, sausages, and just about everything else Tom could think of, Harry stepped into the seemingly empty lot behind the pub. Just as it started to rain, he put on his cloak, which also served to further hide his features. Finally, he walked up to the trashcan at the back and tapped the correct bricks, but he decided to use his index finger instead of his wand because he wanted to see if it would work.

It did, and after the bricks had rearranged themselves into the archway entrance to Diagon Alley, Harry stepped forward, reentering the wizarding world after his two-month absence. Unsurprisingly, not too much had changed. Nothing ever did seem to change very much in the wizarding world. The only major difference that Harry noticed was the display window of Quality Quidditch Supplies, which now contained the newest model of racing broom, _The Firebolt: Inferno Series._ Harry stopped for a moment to admire the broom, which he had to admit, was a work of art, and to listen to the shopkeeper, who was performing an amusing impersonation of an excited Creevy brother on a sugar high. (A/N: I don't know where that Creevy thing came from, but you have to admit it's a funny thing to think about.)

"It's amazing! Absolutely amazing! Do you remember the _Firebolts_ we got two years ago? Of course you do, how could you forget? Well, do you remember that they were just prototypes? (I know I do.) Here it is, after two years of hard work, the manufacturers have finally released the finished product! It's twenty percent faster than the prototype model, accelerates faster, and is even more maneuverable! Can you believe it? It's amazing…"

As the ecstatic proprietor began his speech again from the beginning, Harry walked off, chuckling to himself. The _Inferno_ looked like it would be one hell of a broom, and from what he sensed of its' magical patterns, it would be a decent rival, in fact, almost an equal, to the broom he was making himself. It was sort of like comparing a _Nimbus Two-Thousand-and-One_ to one of the _Two-Thousand-and-Two's,_ which had come out the previous year. The newer model was clearly superior, but was still in the same region of capability as the older one. If a flyer were skilled enough, they would be able to outperform the superior broom.

_'Why do I have the feeling that the entire Slytherin team will be riding _Infernos_ this year?' _Harry asked himself_. 'Oh, that's right! It's because the Captain position for Slytherin is open and Malfoy will use any amount of his daddy's money to get the spot.'_

Harry pondered this for a moment. He thought of the Slytherin quidditch team, all seven riding _Firebolt Infernos_, and he knew he would have to supply Gryffindor with a few of his custom-made brooms. His team was the best, of that he had no doubt. However, skill was a lot like equipment; it could only take a player so far. There was a point where a superior broom could outdo even the greatest of flyers, and Harry knew that with the brooms his team currently had, no amount of skill would be enough to overcome a pack of _Infernos_ being flown by even average players.

Harry stopped walking when he realized he was right in front of Gringotts bank. He entered and exchanged a portion of his earnings from the factory into Galleons; keeping some for the trip to Muggle London he would be taking within the next few days. After leaving Gringotts, Harry set off into Diagon Alley, intent only upon seeing what there was to see, and perhaps picking up his school supplies if he wandered past the shops in which he would find them.

The first stop Harry made on his meandering path was at Madam Malkin's, where he purchased the new school robes he badly needed, having grown six inches over the summer. For the sake of appearances, he also bought some new dress robes. (He already had some in his trunk.) They were the same bottle green that Mrs. Weasley had gotten for him the previous year, but with a black and gold design around the neck and wrists.

The next establishment Harry wandered across was the apothecary, which he didn't really need to visit, having large stores of almost any ingredients he would need. There were, however, certain very rare potions ingredients which Harry thought he should get. Among his purchases were unicorn hooves, phoenix ashes, Egyptian gryphon blood (though he probably could have gotten it himself, he wasn't sure it would have worked right if it came from an animagus form, and wasn't eager to find out either), and the voice boxes of full-grown mandrakes. (A/N: don't ask what this stuff is for, I haven't though about that yet.)

Lunch time came surprisingly soon, and Harry opted to venture into Muggle London for food. He dropped off his purchases and his cloak into his room at the Leaky Cauldron and exited out onto the street. Over the last hour, the rain had stopped, and the weather was now sunny and rapidly becoming warmer. As he walked through downtown London looking for a decent restaurant, he couldn't help but notice the attention he was getting from the women around him. He was uncomfortable, but oddly pleased and excited by the large number of admiring glances (and stares) that were sent his way.

Even though he was very much in love with Hermione, Harry couldn't stop himself from doing a little staring of his own. Due to the vast number of pretty girls in skimpy outfits, who were exuberantly enjoying the last few weeks of their holidays, Harry had to expend a lot of self-control just to keep from embarrassing himself, particularly when he envisioned Hermione in similar outfits. (A/N: heh, heh, heh…)

(E/N: You're a sick f---, man.)

(A/N: Yes, I am. What of it?)

Harry finally decided on a simple fast food restaurant. After finishing his hamburger and fries, Harry resumed strolling through muggle London, seeing the sights (A/N: little double meaning there). He thought he might catch another movie while he was out, as he had enjoyed his trip with the Stone family a few days before.

The movie itself turned out to be pretty good, though there were a few brief periods when Harry decided to spy on the one or two couples who had decided that snogging would provide them with better entertainment. Once again, however, thoughts of Hermione worked their way into his imagination, and conjured fantasies in which he and Hermione were following the other couples' examples.

It was beginning to get dark when Harry stepped out of the cinema, so he returned to the Leaky Cauldron and to his room for the evening. He spent a few hours working on his broom and decided that he would finish it in the morning.

Before bed, Harry decided to read a Charles Dickens novel he had found in his trunk's muggle literature section, _Great Expectations_. In an epiphany, he realized that he and Pip were a lot alike: they both grew up in unhappy homes with unpleasant relatives, they were both brought out of their predicaments to be trained to be something they always wanted to be, both had found a mentor in an old and eccentric person, and they even shared a similarity in that an escaped convict acted towards them as a mysterious benefactor. Harry finally began getting tired at about 10:30, so he put down the nearly finished novel, and dropped into pleasant, Hermione-filled dreams.

oOo Day 2 in Diagon Alley oOo

The next morning, Harry woke up, and immediately after showering and dressing, set himself to completing his broomstick.

Two and a half hours later (trunk time), he finished it. Adding, as a final touch, a lightning bolt on the handle, where the name of a broom would usually be found.

From tip to tail, it was entirely hand-carved. Even the individual twigs, he had shaped himself. The handle was made of the highest quality oak that Harry could find, carved to aerodynamic perfection. Each twig on the tail had been hand picked from the finest ash trees and cut to the perfect length. Every inch of the broom, he had crafted with his own flying style in mind. There were purposefully positioned rough spots at various locations which provided him with extra grip for some of his more risky maneuvers, but were still smooth enough that they would not affect the broom's speed. The final, ultimate aspect of the broom, however, was what made it uniquely his; the spells enabling it to fly had been arranged in a way that was almost perfectly compatible with his magical signature. The broom would only work for him. Anyone else attempting to use it would receive worse results than they would with one of the school's _Shooting Stars_.

Vowing that he would take it on a test flight in the ninth chamber after lunch, Harry set out into Diagon Alley, this time with a set plan: breakfast, another visit to Gringotts to examine the contents of his new vault, buy his school books, and then lunch.

After an enjoyable breakfast of bacon-sandwiches and potatoes, Harry passed through the three doors of Gringotts bank. He approached an open desk, and with some surprise, saw the same goblin who was at the desk on his first visit to the bank over four years earlier.

"Hello," he said, addressing the goblin, whose name, he realized, he has never gotten.

"May I help you?" the goblin replied, in his gravelly voice.

"Yes, I'd like to visit vault number…"he paused, taking out his keys and a copied portion of Dumbledore's letter "…0004, please."

The goblin was visibly surprised at this statement, though he hid it rather quickly. "You will need to submit a sample of blood for your proof of identification, sir. Only those with both a key and direct blood ties to a member of the Potter family are permitted access to vault 0004."

Noticing that a few heads turned in their direction at the mention of the name "Potter", Harry leaned in closer to the desk. The goblin, correctly guessing Harry's intentions, leaned in as well.

"I would like to call as little attention to myself as possible," Harry said. "So I'd appreciate it if you would speak a bit more softly, Mr.…-"

"Teckloff, Mr. Potter. No mister, accent on the Teck," complying with Harry's request, he now spoke in a much lower volume, so that only Harry and himself could hear. "Come with me. For a vault of that level of security, I will have to take you down myself."

"Lead the way," Harry replied.

The pair got into a cart on a track Harry had never used before, which, he assumed, led to the high-security vaults. The ride was twice as long as any Harry had ever taken; even though the cart was moving at almost triple the normal speed.

When they finally stopped, Harry, who normally enjoyed the ride, felt slightly nauseous. Maybe it was just because he wasn't controlling the cart's movement, because he had flown far faster and had made more wild turns on his broomstick. Harry took a moment to let his stomach settle before standing up to exit the cart. When he did, he found himself facing a large door, which was perfectly smooth except for a deep pit in the center at a height right beneath his ribcage. The surface of the door curved sharply in on itself to form the depression, and Harry discovered, upon examination with his mage sense that he could only detect that he _could not_ detect the magic surrounding the hole.

Curious, Harry extended his mage sense awareness as far as it would go and got…nothing. He could sense no magic of any kind within 300 meters of himself, though he knew that there had to be, he was in a magical building for Merlin's sake! Suddenly, a thought hit him, and he voiced his suspicion to Teckloff.

"Gringotts is shielded to block the perception of mage sense, isn't it?"

To say Teckloff was surprised would have been a severe understatement. He sputtered in gobbledygook for a few moments, muttering anxiously to himself. Harry had only recently started learning gobbledygook, along with other languages used by magical non-humans, and he was taking his time, so he only understood brief snatches of Teckloff's ramblings.

After about a minute, Teckloff suddenly stopped muttering, and slowly directed his gaze towards Harry, with a look of astonishment that was quite amusing on the goblin's wrinkly, normally frowning face. (A/N: come on; imagine one of the goblins from the movie looking surprised. Funny, isn't it?)

"You are a mage seer." It wasn't a question.

"Yes. I am," Harry replied.

A moment later, it was Harry who was astonished, as Teckloff suddenly gripped his hand and shock it as enthusiastically as any of the wizards Harry met with Hagrid on his first visit to Diagon Alley.

"It's such a great honor to meet a human magic sensor, Mr. Potter! Normally, only goblins, house-elves, and some other magical creatures are capable of detecting magic! (A/N: I know the thing with goblins seeing magic is from another fic, but I can't for the life of me remember which one. Knowing me, it's probably on my favorites page. If anyone does know, please inform me so that I may give them their due credit.) A human with this ability is almost as rare as a true seer. There are only three or four born in a generation! How do you-"

"Teckloff, please," Harry interrupted. "I know that a magic-sensing human is rare, and I can understand that you're excited, but could you please just slow down a little? I can tell you want to ask me some questions, and I would be delighted to answer them, but I would prefer that we do this while I take care of my business in the vault. So come on, how does the door open?"

"You place your hand in the hole, and it will draw blood from you. I would recommend using your left hand, as the pain lingers, even though the wound does not."

Harry complied and placed his hand into the pit. The moment it stopped moving, a large metal needle snapped down, quickly extracting some of Harry's blood, and withdrew. Harry's hand, following the needle's example, pulled away. In the few moments they waited, the wound in Harry's palm healed quickly. The pain it caused, however, remained, just as Teckloff had said it would.

"Did they ever consider using a smaller needle?" Harry asked? "That thing felt about as thick as a pencil."

"What is a pencil?"

"Never mind. Muggle thing."

Suddenly, a soft, swirling light began to come from the hole. As the light increased in brightness, the depression grew in size. After about fifteen seconds, during which Harry watched in awe, the door, and yes it had become a door, was large enough for him to walk through.

Harry stepped through without hesitation, and immediately was somewhat confused. From what he had read from the list of property Dumbledore sent him, he had half-expected a vault the size of the Great Hall at Hogwarts. Instead, he found himself in a …hallway?

The hall seemed to stretch on forever, with doors placed every forty feet or so. Harry noticed that each door had a small plaque at eye level, and upon closer inspection of the nearest door, he saw his parents' names engraved upon the plaque: "James Potter and Lily Evans-Potter." The next door, which was opposite from the midpoint between his parents' door and the one next to it read: "Liam Potter and Jennifer Hamilton-Potter," who must have been his paternal grandparents.

Then Harry noticed something strange: while his father and grandfather's names were in gold, his mother and grandmother's were silver. Harry initially assumed that the gold lettering was for males, while the silver was for females. About twelve doors down, however, Harry saw a female's name in gold and her husband's name engraved in silver. 'I guess that shoots my theory out the window,' he thought.

"Teckloff," he began, "why is it that this woman's name is in gold, while all the others we've seen so far have been silver?"

"Her family were the former owners of this vault, Mr. Potter. They transferred ownership to the Potters when their only child, your great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great- grandmother, married into the Potter family."

"Oh," Harry replied. He supposed it was a bit foolish to believe that everything was passed on father-to-son for 6,000 years. It was remarkable enough that the Potter family had done it for twelve generations. Of course the powers of Methos would not stay in the same family for six millennia; the families had to have female offspring at some point.

Harry continued down the seemingly endless hallway. About thirty doors and eleven families latter, he found a pair of names in red and blue: Godric Gryffindor and Rowena Ravenclaw. _'Well, well, well,' _Harry thought_, 'looks like those "unconfirmed rumors" in _Hogwarts: a History_ were true after all.'_

Fifteen doors later:

_'Hey, Merlin's door! Wait a minute, I see Merlin's name in white, but I don't see any name accompanying it. Guess he never actually got married._' (A/N: actually, I couldn't think of any mythical character from that time period to put him with.)

At that point, Harry asked Teckloff to turn back. Harry didn't actually plan on doing anything in the vault, but for some reason he just felt like he had to see Methos' door. It was a compulsion he could not explain, even to himself. The reason that he asked Teckloff to return to the entrance was that he had done the math: the difference between Methos and Merlin was about 4,500 years. At four to five generations in a century, for forty-five centuries, there were at least 180 doors to go before he came to Methos'. Also taking into account that it was twenty feet from a door on one side to the next door on the other side, they would have to walk more than twice the distance they had already come. Harry had seen that the ancient goblin was already tiring, so he asked him to turn around. Teckloff protested at first, but Harry insisted, and eventually convinced him to go back.

Harry progressed back through the hall, seeing names in languages that most people would not recognize.

Finally, Harry came to a door, written in black hieroglyphics, was Methos. But there were two other doors beyond that. Harry walked up to the first and he could almost identify the symbols, but he could not understand what he was seeing.

"This can't be right," he muttered to himself, "this almost looks…elvish. But it has to be some ancient dialect, because the writing only vaguely resembles the last known form from before they disappeared. Was Methos part elf?"

Thoroughly confused, Harry approached the final door, expecting more elvish, but what he did see was even more confusing.

The final door, at the end of the hall, was not a door at all. It was just a large oval-shaped plaque on the wall, with a golden circle encompassing as large an area as possible without actually touching the edges. The circle was a paradox of itself: it glowed, but it absorbed light as well. It was perfect, but flawed. It simultaneously gave off feelings of being full, and being a void. Harry actually feared it slightly.

Even though he knew it was futile, Harry, through an impulse he would never understand, reached out with his mage sense, trying to examine the circle. He felt his awareness of magic expanding like a bubble from his mind, and the moment the bubble touched the orb, Harry felt his mind explode.

Harry's consciousness was drowning in the sudden in-flux of information. It was as if he had lived his life in a closed room with only a pin hole to give him light, and had suddenly been thrust into the outside to stare at the center of the sun. In a single second, he perceived more with his mage sense than he had with all of his other senses combined over the entire course of his life.

He could "see" everything. Anything containing or emitting even the most infinitesimal spark of magic, he was aware of it. He saw and sensed all of the magic everywhere on earth. He saw the wards of Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang being reinforced. He sensed the birth of a pair of pixie twins. He saw Hermione's magical aura, a beautiful, powerful swirling pattern of white, pale gold, and rosy pink. He also saw Dumbledore's, unsurprisingly one of the strongest auras there were. It was with some horror that he also sensed Voldemort. His aura was a massive black and putrid green void. It radiated apathy and hate, and what Harry could only describe as evil. There were other voids as well: smaller ones, not as strong, or as dark. They must have been death eaters, for there were also thin black cords of magic connecting the smaller voids to the larger one. There was also one other line: it started back at Voldemort, but slowly turned to a golden white as it approached…Harry, himself, finally connecting at his scar.

Harry was overwhelmed by the information. It wasn't just how much information he was taking in, it was that he sensed it all at once. Everything he could sense, he could perceive it all at the exact same time, without focusing on any one thing. There was simply too much information to absorb.

Harry frantically tried to reduce his sphere of magical awareness. He had to: his mind was going to just shut itself down from the sensory overload. Slowly, too slowly, his awareness began to decrease, it wasn't much, but just enough for him to focus harder, and speed up the process. Then, in an instant, it all just dropped away, and Harry was back in his own head, his mage sense off as if he was squeezing his eyes, or the magic sense's equivalent, tightly shut.

He was on his side, curled tightly into a fetal position, staring out at the blank white wall. His head and scar were in so much pain it made Voldemort's touch seem like a pin prick. It faded quickly, though. And Harry slowly stood, gaping in pure terror at the circle on the plaque. It was the circle, he knew, that had caused…whatever the hell had just happened.

Without a second thought, Harry turned and ran. He tore through the hall as fast as he could, to put as much distance as possible between himself and that orb. He had no idea what it was or what it represented, but it scared him in a way even Voldemort could not. During his brief connection to the orb, he had sensed something else in the background, a power so great that it impossibly dwarfed his own. He could barely fathom the existence of anything that powerful. Harry vowed to spend a long time thinking before he ever went near that…thing, again.

After about four minutes, Harry arrived back at the entrance, where Teckloff was waiting for him.

"Mr. Potter, are you alright?" he asked.

"Yes, Teckloff, I'm fine." Harry answered. This wasn't exactly true, however. Harry was panting and sweating buckets. He felt as if he had run fifteen miles instead of one.

"Let's go, Teckloff." Harry said, regaining his breath and some of his composure, "and I know the carts are only supposed to go one speed, but could you please make an exception, just this once? I do feel a little nauseous."

"Of course, Mr. Potter, but who told you that the carts only go one speed?"

"Griphook, the goblin who assisted Hagrid and I on my first visit to Gringotts."

"Oh, now I understand! The one-speed rule only applies to carts bound to regular vaults. Those with a particularly long and irregular journey, such as this one, can vary their speeds to accommodate the occupant's stomachs."

"Good to know. Now how about we get to the surface?"

A long and slow ride later, Harry stepped into the sunlight outside Gringotts. He decided to go back to the Leaky Cauldron to rest and think, maybe have a Butter Beer to settle his stomach. On the way back, he noticed that he was attracting even more attention he had on the way to the bank. On a suspicion, he tentatively extended his mage sense, as he was still shaky from his experience in the family vault, over only a few feet, and realized why. The changes he had made to conceal his appearance had come undone during the shock of his contact with the orb. His scar and his true countenance were revealed for the entire world to see.

Harry hurried back to the inn, up to his room, and promptly collapsed on the bed, unable to stop himself from shaking anymore. He lay there for several minutes, eventually succeeding in getting himself under control. He went back down to the bar and ordered the butter beer he had been thinking about earlier, also using the Voice to "convince" Tom to discreetly sneak in a small amount of something stronger.

oOoOo

A little while later, Harry returned to his room with a slightly fuller stomach. After the butter beer, Harry felt up to having a little food, and had half of a sandwich before deciding to just go upstairs and retire. The early hour of the day notwithstanding, Harry was completely exhausted. He sprawled out on the bed, and almost immediately drifted off to sleep.

oOoOo

His slumber was not as pleasant as he would have liked. At least three times during the night, Harry awoke from the same…well, nightmare wasn't exactly the word for it, but dream wasn't either. It was something in between the two, just brief flashes between periods of blackness. Flashes of magical images, of Hermione, of his parents, flashes of Voldemort and Wormtail, and of other things that he had never seen before.

oOoOo

The next afternoon, a still-tired Harry Potter ventured out into Diagon Alley once again. He did return to Gringotts, but only to retrieve money from his regular vault: he wanted to stay away from that…thing, as much as possible.

He met with Teckloff again, and the two of them stepped into one of the carts, and went down through the tunnels to Harry's regular vault. The ride at normal speed was as exhilarating as it always was. When he did reach the regular vault, he noticed that the security surrounding it was considerably more imposing than it had been upon his last visit two years prior. There was a large cave off to the side of the entrance, and Harry was convinced, by the low rumbling and waves of hot air emanating from it, that there was a sleeping dragon inside of it. When he questioned Teckloff about the added security, his guide responded by saying that due to a "gargantuan galleon transfer", the upper-level goblins had deemed it necessary to increase security in order to protect their wealthiest client's assets.

Harry grinned at the somewhat cynical tone in Teckloff's voice. He was really beginning to like the goblin. He could see that Teckloff cared more about his clients than their gold, and disapproved of those of his kind who had it the other way around.

When they stopped, and his vault door was opened, Harry was not fully prepared for what he saw inside.

His vault had grown. Here was the giant cavern he had been expecting to see yesterday. He had never seen a room this large; even the Great Hall at Hogwarts would be dwarfed in comparison to this place. Everywhere he looked, he saw mountains of bags, the contents of which were identified by pictures on their fronts. There were countless mounds of galleons and gems. There were also several marble pillars in an open area, where it seemed that incomplete bags were…completing themselves.

As he watched, a bronze basin atop the pillar in the front row, farthest to Harry's left, filled quickly with Knuts. When about thirty had accumulated, they disappeared, replaced by a silver sickle, which flew into the basin at the next pillar, where other sickles resided, some appearing on their own, others coming from the Knuts. When the appropriate quantity of sickles appeared, they changed into galleons, and flew to their new container. The galleons were periodically transferred to a large sack, which eventually tied itself and floated over to join one of the massive piles of its fellows to the rear of the vault, only to be replaced by another bag, and the process began all over again. The rear rows of pillars were following the same procedure as the galleons, yet the basins on their peaks were filled with gemstones, and were accumulating far more slowly than the coins.

"Self-organizing vaults, Mr. Potter," said Teckloff. "This is the first of many new services we are offering to our wealthiest patrons, though in your case, the sheer magnitude of your vault's contents makes it a necessity. As you can see, the smaller coins are transferred to larger denominations, and the galleons and gems into bags in increments of 1000 pieces each. Typically for your vault, a bag of 1000 galleons is completed every forty or so hours, at which point it moves to one of the large stacks which you see on the right hand side of the vault. The gems are also sorted according to type, and each type has its own section."

"This is…unbelievable," Harry said, still awestruck at the size of his vault. "Where is all of this coming from?"

"There are several businesses and…resource deposits under your family's, and therefore, your control, Mr. Potter," Teckloff replied. "The money they make is sent here automatically, after the necessary expenses are deducted, of course. Altogether, your total financial value increases at a rate of approximately 20,000 galleons in an average month."

Harry, too stunned to speak, simply walked into the vault, dazedly grabbed one of the thousand-galleon bags, and walked back out again.

On the return trip up to the main level of the bank, after Harry had appeared to regain cognizance, Teckloff made an interesting suggestion:

"Mr. Potter, would you be interested in becoming part of a Gringotts direct vault transfer program?"

"That depends, Teckloff, what is it and why would I want to?"

"Well, one of our muggleborn wizard employees told Goblin Minister Ragnok about a muggle creation called a credit card. Do you know what this is?" At Harry's nod, Teckloff continued, "We have altered the concept slightly in that we will transfer the money directly from your vault to that of a wizarding business, making your shopping much easier. The Minister thought this was a fantastic idea and about eight months ago, the system was finally implemented. It's still quite new, so for now it is only offered to our most valued patrons. It will work quite well for you because you rarely have the opportunity to visit either Diagon Alley or Gringotts."

"And how does it work?" Harry asked, his interest having been piqued.

"Your key will be melted down and re-formed into a pendant to be worn about the neck or kept in the pocket. When you wish to make a purchase, place the pendant on the clerk's counter at whatever store you are in, and the money will be instantly transferred from your vault to that of the shop. Hundreds of Gringotts goblins worked furiously for months to make nearly every wizarding business establishment compatible with this new program. It even works for you in the few stores that do not take credit. We will give you a new money bag. Whenever you need a few galleons, place your pendant on the Gringotts seal on the bag, and clearly state the amount you require: it will appear in the bag. Furthermore-"

"Alright, Teckloff, I'm convinced. I'd like to set up this pendant as soon as we get to the main offices. I do have a few questions, though," Harry said, as they arrived and stepped out of the cart, "What happens if the pendant or money bag are lost or stolen?"

"That, Mr. Potter, is a good point, which I was just beginning to make when you decided to interrupt me. The coin and money bag will only work for you, though you may authorize another user at a later date if you wish, and if either is more than ten feet from your person for more than twelve hours, they will be instantly trans-located to your pocket, along with a picture of the thief, so that you may report him to the authorities."

"Excellent. What about Muggle money?"

"The new money bag will be fitted with an enchantment which will make it appear to Muggles as an ordinary Muggle-style wallet. This is another bonus, as you will no longer need to pay a fee for currency exchange."

"Brilliant. Let's begin."

Over the next half hour, an intricate-series of magical procedures was performed in preparing Harry's key/pendant and bag, tying then to him magically, and many other enchantments, as well.

Harry wished he could observe the goblin's magic, which he knew to be substantially different from a human's, at work, and cursed Gringotts' anti-human mage seer wards, until he remembered what had happened yesterday, and was immediately thankful for their existence.

When Harry was finally presented with his pendant and pouch, he took a few moments to admire both before slipping the bag into the pockets of his jeans, and tying the pendant to one of his belt loops.

"Thank you, Teckloff," Harry said, "you are a credit to goblins everywhere."

"Thank _you_, Mr. Potter," Teckloff replied, "You are a credit to your kind, as well. If more members of our respective races got along as we do, there would be far fewer rebellions, and far more gold to go around."

"It is unfortunate, then, that they are not," Harry responded. "Teckloff," he continued, "if I needed you, could I trust you to handle certain business ventures for me with the utmost discretion?"

"Of course, Mr. Potter. What type of business ventures?"

"None, yet. I just have a strange feeling that I will be in need of such services in the near future, and I need them handled by someone I can trust. I am pleased to know that I can depend on you. Keft stimplag, mibb thufir." The last was one of the few gobbledygook phrases which Harry knew, and was uttered by Harry before he turned and made his way to the exit. Harry was twenty feet away before Teckloff recovered from his shock at being addressed in his own language, and repeated the phrase in English, shouting so that Harry would hear him:

"Goodbye to you, as well, my friend! And by the way, your accent is terrible!"

oOoOo

That night, Harry entered the wilderness of his trunk, finally having the opportunity and motivation to test his new broom. He chose a large, grassy field as his starting point, making sure that he had powerful cushioning charms in place everywhere within a mile of his location, just in case.

He mounted the broom, and instantly found himself in the perfect position, without needing to shift around at all as he always had before on other brooms. With just the lightest tap of his foot, he was off the ground and flying as he never had before: he flew faster, soared higher, and turned more sharply than he had previously thought possible.

After a few minutes, he landed, only to take off again a moment later with his Firebolt, which he had reassembled the previous day. He wanted to compare the two, but there was no comparison to be made. As much as he loved his Firebolt, it just couldn't compete with his own work. The broom he had made was so attuned to him that flying with anything else made him feel as if a limb were missing. He would always keep and treasure his Firebolt; it was the first gift Sirius had ever given him, but he would not be able to use it, it was just too…uncomfortable.

Re-mounting his new broom, Harry took out the practice snitch he had bought the previous day at Quality Quidditch Supplies, in addition to a small book on how to conduct oneself as a captain, including strategies for selecting new players. The shopkeeper's expression when he realized that the teenager had a credit pendant had amused Harry for quite a while. He released the snitch, and took off, letting it get a head start.

Moments later, Harry discovered that even when it was traveling too fast for his physical eyes to see, the snitch was unignorably visible to his mage sense. Not only could he see where the snitch was at all times, he could also see where it had been and where it was going to be. The snitch's flight path was indicated by a web of angular golden lines, the snitch appearing as a particularly bright ball at one of the intersections, before flitting to another crossing a hundred feet away. Only when Harry approached the snitch did it break out of its pattern, flying in any direction and changing its' course randomly.

Harry was devastated at this realization. He had completely forgotten that with his abilities as a mage seer, he would never need to search for the snitch again, he could close off his mage sense, but it would occupy too much of his concentration and inhibit his ability to play. Besides, the fact that he was a mage seer could not be concealed for long. As Dumbledore might say, "The truth does not does not like to be kept hidden." There was no avoiding the fact that most, if not all, of his capabilities would eventually become public knowledge, and some prat like Malfoy or Snape would probably try to get him banned from quidditch because he would have an un-fair advantage over the other players.

His only real option was to tell Dumbledore about his being a mage seer, and have to take a mage sense suppression potion before every game and practice. It would only last about six hours, but with his new broom, that would be far more than what he would need. He would also need to tell the headmaster about him being a metamorphmagus, and arrange for proper instruction of the skill.

oOoOo

Harry's final day in Diagon Alley was spent collecting any supplies he had forgotten about, and then just walking around, watching and observing those around him.

He actually saw the Weasleys while eating lunch in the Leaky Cauldron, but because of his disguise, they did not recognize him, though Ginny spent a long time watching him in a manner that was distinctly reminiscent of Kristi, though toned-down a bit.

Harry felt slightly guilty about avoiding them, but rationalized that they would not know it was him, and they would be seeing him as himself in a few days, anyway. The bar had been too noisy for him to properly eavesdrop on the family's conversation, but he had heard brief snippets which sounded like "Prat" (Ron)… "Stuffed up" (Ginny)… "Dung-brain" (Charlie)… "Stupid git" (the twins, in unison)…and "sycophantic oaf" (Bill). Their grumblings were accompanied by sniffs from Mrs. Weasley, indicating that while she did not approve of what they were saying, she agreed with them completely. Harry wondered who they were talking about. Judging by the looks on the faces he could see, Harry assumed he would be told almost immediately once he saw the red-haired family as himself.

Between lunch and dinner, Harry took one last look around Diagon Alley. His pace was somewhat more frantic than that of one taking a leisurely stroll, however. Shortly after lunch, Harry had gone up to his room to get some packing done, and intended to take a short walk before dinner. His panic had begun towards the end of his packing, when he realized what he did not have. He had forgotten to buy Hermione a birthday present.

Harry stalked rapidly through the alley, scanning the window of each shop he passed, then moving on, seeing nothing that looked promising.

_'No…no…wrong gender for that shop…too serious for that shop…I _definitely_ shouldn't get her anything from there, though I wouldn't mind seeing her in –shut _up_, brain…no, that's all wrong……no…no-wait a minute!'_

He back-tracked a few feet, and took a closer look at the interior of the shop. _'Should I?'_ he thought, _'no, it's far too expensive…_what_ am I thinking!? I could buy everything in there and it wouldn't even scratch my fortune. But, _she_ would say it was too expensive, but what the hell, I can lavish my girlfriend with extravagant gifts if I want to. Is she my girlfriend? I mean, I want her to be; she confessed to having feelings for me, I confessed to having feelings for her, that makes us boyfriend and girlfriend, doesn't it? Oh well, that's just one more thing to talk to her about tomorrow.' _(A/N: ah, the random mental ramblings of a fifteen-year-old. And no, I'm not going to describe the gift yet. You'll have to wait until her birthday, which gives me more time to figure out exactly what it will look like.)

He entered the shop, and immediately got the attention of the clerk, a very attractive, well-dressed woman in her late twenties, with a habitual, obviously faked smile plastered to her face. Her smile became considerably more sincere, however, when she noticed that Harry was carrying a Gringotts pendant; she understood that for the time being, only the obscenely rich had access to those objects. Harry pointed toward the item he had seen in the window, and asked, "How much?"

The attendant gave him a brief look of shock before telling him that the price was just over 630 galleons, and inquiring as to whether he was certain about wanting to purchase the necklace. Harry confirmed that he wanted to buy it, and requested that it be wrapped. The woman finally completed the sale after briefly commenting that whoever he was giving it to must be very special to him.

Harry had calmed down considerably after finding Hermione a birthday present, and returned to the Leaky Cauldron at a leisurely pace, stopping at Fortescue's for a sundae, and continuing on.

When Harry arrived at the Cauldron, he ate a small dinner and informed Tom that he would be leaving the next day, requesting to have a wake-up arranged at about 7:00.

oOoOo

Harry was awoken the next morning by Flitty, a rather amusing house-elf who worked in the kitchen of the Leaky Cauldron, and occasionally did other things as well. Harry had met her only briefly two days before, but immediately took a liking to the elf. She reminded him of Dobby, only without the masochism and much less tightly wound.

Harry spent an inordinate amount of time getting ready that morning. He was so preoccupied with his thoughts of meeting Hermione in a few short hours that he dazed out several times. He ended up spending almost fifteen minutes brushing his teeth during one of his dazes.

Finally, shortly before 10:00, after double-checking that all of his possessions had been packed, and he had no lingering remnants of any metamorphmagus disguises, Harry paid Tom for the four days in the room, said goodbye, and stepped out into muggle London. He hailed a muggle cab, and immediately after sitting down, uttered only three words, as he was too nervous to manage any more, "King's Cross Station."

oOoOo End Chapter 8 oOoOo

(Closing A/N: Sorry, again, that this took so long. There were a few new things I needed to add, and some serious continuity issues to resolve. School, both summer and fall sessions, were absolute murder. Next semester, though, I will be taking mostly easy classes, shopping around preparing to change my major. This will leave me with a lot more free time, and I promise to try to make it count.)


End file.
